


Smith's Circle

by gypsydancergirl (hauntedlittledoll)



Category: Firefly, Full House (US), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bible, Clairestiel: Cas as Claire Novak, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Episode: s06e10 Caged Heat, F/M, Gen, Girl Castiel, Human Castiel, Kid Fic, PTSD, Random Movie References for the Win, Random Musical References for the Win, Random Television References for the Win, Shakespeare is My Second Language, Star Wars Shaped My Childhood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:57:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 46
Words: 20,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/gypsydancergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title taken from Heather Dale's song of the same name to reflect a "Supernatural" collection of otherwise unrelated commentfic spanning the series, devolving into alternate universes, future fic, past fic, pop culture references and more.</p><p>Miscellaneous ratings and warnings apply--no explicit material contained herewithin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fashion Tip

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Fashion Tip  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 274  
> Prompt: Written for hugglewolf : "Supernatural, Castiel (Still an angel), trapped somewhere or being restrained physically by someone and fighting to breathe. Dean or Sam or Gabe to the rescue would be an additional bonus."

There were a number of very fine reasons why Castiel should make a hasty escape from the demons intent on reverse-exorcism. Castiel was rather unwelcome in heaven at the moment. He wasn't entirely sure what would happen to his vessel if he checked out now. The angel was rather lacking in grace to spare and losing more was a bad idea.  
  
That paled under the desperate need to breathe as Castiel scrabbled at the fabric tightening around his throat. His nails did more harm than good as he fumbled at the knot. Having one of the Winchesters demonstrate the function of a tie before now would have been a good idea.  
  
He was an angel of the Lord at the mercy of a particular small item of apparel. That and the demon, Meg, who understood the mechanics of apparel much better than he did. She tightened the knot with a deft touch, then slapped his hand away like an exasperated housewife.  
  
"Don't mess it up now that I've got it almost exactly right," she cooed at a strange pause in her partner's recital.  
  
Castiel's vision was fuzzy around the edges when Meg leaned in. That didn't mean he couldn't see who wielded the iron pipe that came down across the back of her head. A sneaker toed her slack form off of Castiel and planted itself squarely in the center of the demon's back. Gabriel then freed him from the tie with a snap of his fingers. Castiel knows he'll never get it back.  
  
"Fashion tip, bro, don't give people the noose to hang you with."  
  
"Would you just exorcise the demon now, Gabriel?"


	2. Taking Sides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Taking Sides  
> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 364  
> Prompt: Written for drabblewriter : "Supernatural, Team Free Will + Gabriel (any pairings), prank war."

Dean and Gabriel had found common ground at last in the joy of pranking their respective little brothers. So then they decide to team up to do it more effectively.  
  
Sam would just like to point out the the sides in this prank war are grossly uneven. And even if Sam's suffering doesn't bother Dean and Gabriel (which he knows it doesn't), there's something cruel about subjecting Castiel to the combined forces of Dean and Gabriel. It's like pitting a baby bird against two very large cats--tigers even.  
  
Especially since it takes Castiel two days to realize that the reason for systematic and repetitive pranking is that Dean and Gabriel meant it when they declared 'war.'  
  
And all over Sam choosing a diner that didn't serve pie. Hello! Isn't that what archangels are _for_?  
  
Apparently, archangels are for new levels of impossibly cruel creativity, and Sam's just thankful that Gabriel's pranks are reversible (when the archangel's in a good mood). Growing up, many of Dean's had not been.  
  
After four days of humiliation in the form of pink hair, female voices, fan-stalkers chasing them six blocks, and a doting grandmother . . . Sam knew he was losing. Even with Castiel's confused assistance, he'd only managed the same tired comebacks from childhood. Short-sheeting, itching powder, and superglue were only funny the first few times.  
  
Unless you were Castiel, who didn't see the humor in them at all.  
  
Sam just didn't have the energy to come up with anything creative. Which was why he had turned the planning and execution of the next challenge over to Castiel so that he could get some sleep before whatever Dean and Gabriel came up with tomorrow.  
  
Which obviously, he should have done way, way, _way_ earlier, because . . . Castiel is a genius. Sam is both ashamed and delighted to say that he never realized what a deviously twisted and utterly brilliant mind the angel had until now.  
  
And it all came down to the ancient piece of parchment in his hand and a fishy smell to Castiel's trenchcoat. "Leviathan," he repeated in awe.  
  
"Baby leviathan," Castiel corrected.  
  
Sam grinned. He was sensing a turn around.


	3. Lessons Learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 318  
> Prompt: Written for mulder200 : "SPN, Sam & Dean, Five Things Dean Taught Sam and One Time When Sam Taught Dean."

Dean taught Sam how to tie his own shoelaces the hard way. No rhymes. Just lots and lots of practice. Making Sam figure out his own knots went a long way too--and Sam transferred his childhood skill with shoelaces to rope all on his own without any help from Dean.

Well, without overt help. Do you know how many times something nasty tries to tie them up?  
  
Dean taught Sam how to load their namesake-rifle before Sam knew what monsters were. Because they were Winchesters and every Winchester should have that skill, hunter or not. It's their identity.  
  
Dean taught Sam how to flirt with a girl--without getting slapped. Early on, Dean had some trouble with foot-in-mouth syndrome, but he learned from his mistakes and Sam did too. In the occasional *sigh* can't-help-it-it's-for-the-good-of-the-hunt/world *sigh* situation, well, Dean's also the one who taught Sam to duck.  
  
Dean taught Sam his first exorcism. And the little mispronunciation of Christos will follow him to the end of his days if his obnoxious Latin-minded little brother has anything to say about it. Which is all Pastor Jim's fault anyway . . .  
  
Dean taught Sam to hustle pool in a bar down the road from Bobby's over the course of a long recovery from a salt-and-burn turned run-and-hide. They cleaned out half the bar despite a broken arm apiece. And if Bobby hadn't dragged Sam's underage ass out of there . . . well, Dean maintains they could have conned the other half out of their money too.  
Bobby suggested that maybe Dean become more proficient at beating heads with his crutch before inciting a riot.  
  
Dean has taught Sam everything he knows. And then Sam taught Dean that he didn't know everything, that Dean wasn't invincible, and that a big brother was absolutely nothing without a little brother.

* * *

"Lesson learned, Sammy. Just come back and ask me why again."


	4. Human Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 297  
> Prompt: Written for glorious_spoon : "Supernatural, any, learning to pick locks while handcuffed."

"I fail to see the point of this," Castiel sighed, lifting his arm to get a better look at the new accessory. The chain clinked softly. "I could break these quite easily."  
  
"And if angelic superstrength is the next thing to go, you'll still know how to get out of handcuffs," Dean returned promptly. "Catch."  
  
Castiel caught the paperclip with his free hand and inspected it closely. Then the angel stared at the cuffs that connected him to the table leg. "This seems unhelpful," he pointed out. "It's the wrong shape."  
  
Sam snickered behind his laptop. Dean threw up his arms. "Of course not. Mr. Can-Break-These-Quite-Easily can't bend a freaking paperclip."  
  
Castiel frowned, and pulled. The paperclip snapped in half, the pieces flying across the room. Castiel watched silently, and turned back to Dean. "I require another paperclip, Dean."  
  
The words that responded to his level request were not fit for polite company. It was Sam who passed him another one, his grin contained behind one hand, while Dean retreated across the room to mutter and sharpen knives.  
  
"Okay, now carefully unfold it," Sam explained, taking Dean's abandoned chair. "Basically, you want a long piece of pointed metal. If you don't have a paperclip, look around. Dean once used a car antenna."  
  
"Do all humans misuse their mundane inventions to this extent or is this a hunter thing?" Castiel asked, believing himself to be quite conversational. He had been practicing.  
  
"Um, a hunter thing. Oh, good, Cas. Now you can experiment with the lock and see how it works. You know, it took Dean almost four minutes to get out of his first pair of . . ." Sam trailed off.  
  
Castiel held up the paperclip in one hand and the handcuffs in the other. "Next lesson."


	5. Empty Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 428  
> Prompt: Written for devils_almond : "SPN, Castiel, after the Apocalypse, heaven tells him he can come back--he refuses."

"Come home, brother.  It is finished now."

Castiel stared at Michael.  Then he slowly looked past his oldest brother to Zachariah, Raphael, Joshua, Gabriel, and all of his brothers and sisters . . . and he shook his head.

Michael didn't seem to know what to make of that.  He stood there dumbly, hand outstretched.  "Castiel?"

"No thank you, Michael."

Zachariah found his voice.  "You refuse heaven?  You refuse our Father's will?  You will fall!"

"I have already fallen," Castiel's voice turned sharp.

His choices had cost him dearly.  He was only a fraction of what he had once been.  His brothers and sisters had not supported him through it as the Winchesters had.  Castiel forgave them, but he could not forget what his choices had wrought.

"I refuse heaven.  I do not refuse our Father's will."

Castiel turned his face up to the soft warmth, and light, and indescribable feeling of the Lord's presence.  After so many years, he could look upon his Father at last.  His faith had been rewarded.

"I do not believe our work on Earth is finished," he murmured.  "I wish to stay and do as you originally intended.  I wish to love the humans."

"Go," came the order from on high.  It came with a ringing tone, a soft touch, and a light that bathed Castiel in grace once more.

He had never expected to be restored.  He now owed Dean a beer.  Castiel opened his eyes, and turned to do his father's bidding.

"Can I go too, Dad?" Gabriel piped up from the second row.  "Please?"  You know how much I love the humans.  Can't I go too?"

A gust of wind ruffled Gabriel's wings and hair.  The archangel's face fell into a pout.  "Well, it was worth a shot," he grumbled, falling back into line.

"You may go, Gabriel, but I will be keeping a very close eye on you," the voice answered, bemused.  "Be sure to come home on occasion.  I will have messages for you to deliver."

Gabriel's face split in a wide grin.

"Go."

Gabriel was off like a shot, snatching Castiel by the back of his trenchcoat and flitting off to the first exotic destination to come to mind.  He even remembered the Winchesters to Dean's displeasure.

The rest of the angels stared after their brothers in stunned silence.  What had just happened? Castiel had chosen earth above heaven.  Gabriel had followed him.  God sent them on a divine quest.  What could this possibly mean for angels and men?

God actually laughed.  "Go.  All of you."


	6. Big Brothers are All the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 621  
> Prompt: Written for cageyklio: "Supernatural, Gabriel & Castiel, I hate to see you hurting."

Castiel was in the middle of a confrontation with Zachariah when he heard the echo of a snap and found himself falling forward onto an oversized bed.

"I don't have time for this, Gabriel," he shouted, trying to push himself upright again, but the bed is too soft to get any leverage.

"Make time," his brother responded.  "Chocolate?"

Castiel rolled over to glare at his brother.  Gabriel was standing behind a kitchen island loaded with sugary confections, his dog dancing around him for a treat.

The Winchesters need me.  They cannot escape from Zachariah alone."

"It can wait," Gabriel waved dismissively.

"They can't wait!" Castiel shouted frantically, finally managing to sit up.

Gabriel slammed both hands onto the counter hard enough to crack the cheap material.  "Well, they're going to have to!"

Castiel held his tongue out of self-preservation, but Gabriel flinched and slumped forward against the broken countertop.

"Don't look at me like that," he grumbled.  "I'm not going to hurt you, and you know it.  I hate it when you get hurt."

"I am older than time itself, Gabriel," Castiel risked.  "I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

The archangel snorted.  "Bang up job, bro.  If those Winchesters don't take good care of you, then I will continue yanking you out of danger."

"I wasn't in danger!"

"There was a seraph with a sword aimed at your head, Castiel.  If that's your idea of safe, you don't get any say from now on," Gabriel declared, from his spot moping among his desserts.

Dean and Sam are in peril, Gabriel."

The archangel sighed and snapped his fingers.  Dean and Sam appeared in the corner of the room, but before they could get a word in edgewise, a second snap reduced them to puppies.  Labradors, if Castiel wasn't mistaken.

"Now they're not.  Will you just listen to me already?"

The golden puppy sniffed at Castiel's feet, and attempted to climb the angel's pantleg.  The dark one sat on its butt and howled at the ceiling.  Castiel slid to the floor so both could reach him.  "Go on," he complied wearily.

"I will not lose any more brothers than I have already, Castiel," Gabriel pointed emphatically.  "And you don't have the juice to serve as their hard-hitter anymore--don't deny it.  I know better."

Castiel remained obediently silent.  Sam crawled into his lap and fell asleep.  Dean attempted to do battle with his trenchcoat sleeve.

"I hate to see you hurting," Gabriel muttered under his breath as if Castiel couldn't hear him.  He glared at the innocent canines.  "So either they take better care of you, or I intervene.  And you know how well they'll take that."

"Dean does think you have ill-intent," Castiel acknowledged.

"Just because you won't admit that you got those injuries trying to escape the sorority-wide orgy I tried to offer," Gabriel grumbled.  "You need to loosen up, bro.  You got the best of TV Land."

Castiel made a skeptical noise and freed his cuff from Dean's teeth.

Gabriel threw up his hands.  "Last chance: They take care of you properly or I take care of them.  No more lying.  You are not a Winchester, and the word 'fine' is no longer in your vocabulary."

Castiel tilted his head in agreement.  Gabriel didn't appear to believe him, but he raised his hand once more to snap.

"And I'll be taking care of Zachariah," the archangel added one final demand.

"I would suggest a toad," Castiel offered politely, gathering Dean and Sam to his chest.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you best," Gabriel grinned and snapped.

"The motel room is empty now," Castiel observed quietly.

Dean was not so calm.  "Son of a bitch!"


	7. Shoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 491  
> Prompt: Written for ianthe_echo: "Gabriel & Bobby, a meeting in the parking lot."

Gabriel blinked at the hunk of wood protruding from his chest, and then looked across the parking lot to blink at the wheelchair-bound hunter.

"Good aim," he allowed, and yanked the stake out.  "But you know this doesn't work on me, right?"

Bobby Singer approached steadily.  "And I know why.  Now, scram."

Gabriel's mind worked on that for a minute.  "Scram?"

"Scram.  Get lost.  Go away.  Shoo!"  Bobby flapped his hand dismissively, and Gabriel stood flabbergasted at the sheer gall being displayed.  He wasn't . . . he wasn't some sort of bird!  The hunter frowned up at him.  "Are you hard of hearing, boy, or just plain dumb?"

"Says the human facing off against an archangel like he has a prayer," Gabriel returned sharply.  Sarcasm and name-calling were activities he could get behind.

Bobby reached up and grabbed a fistful of Gabriel's jacket to haul him down to the other man's level.  "I don't care who you are.  You're not messing with my boys today."

Gabriel freed himself, but stayed half-crouched.  "Maybe I just wanted to offer my assistance?" he lied virtuously, affecting a wounded innocence.

Bobby huffed.  "And maybe I'll get up out of this chair to kick your ass, Trickster."

"They call me Gabriel now."

"You're nothing, but a no-good Trickster to me, boy."  Bobby gripped the second stake in his lap.

Gabriel frowned at the human.  He knew who the man was, and knew of his relationship with the Winchester boys, but honestly . . . "What'd I ever do to you?"

Honestly, the tomato color and seeming apoplexy couldn't be good for the old man's blood pressure.  "What did you do?!  You recall that chainsaw that near about cut me in two?  How about killing Dean a few hundred times?  Or using my face to try breaking Sam?"  Bobby puffed up further and further, his posture ramrod straight and one finger poking Gabriel emphatically.  "You're a darn coward; that's what!"

Gabriel didn't answer right away.  He stared at the hunter until the old man shifted uneasily.  Gabriel smirked slowly.  "I like chainsaws.  You should consider that a compliment."

Whatever the hunter had expected him to say, it wasn't that.  He blustered for a moment and then glared coldly at the archangel.  "What are you doing here?"

"Just enjoying a ringside seat to the end of days and free-loading off of the boys' notice-me-not sigils.  I'll even share if you want.  Free popcorn included."

Bobby's suggestion was anatomically improbable.

"I like you," Gabriel announced, grinning as he slapped the man's knee.  "Well, offer's open if you change your mind."

Bobby looked him dead in the eye, flapped both hands, and issued a single word.  "Shoo."

Gabriel laughed and headed for the diner across the road.  They had strawberry shakes to die for.  He'd check in again later.  He was kinda curious as to how long it would take the hunter to realize his legs were working again.


	8. Superheroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 603  
> Prompt: Written for entropynchaos: "SPN, Castiel + Gabriel + wee!Dean + wee!Sam, a spell goes wrong and Cas and Gabriel find themselves babysitting . . . and it's not as easy as they make it seem on TV."

When Castiel's voice came crashing into Gabriel's head in a panic, the archangel thought something truly dire had occurred.  Something like death and/or dismemberment.  Which was the only reason taht he flung himself to his little brother's side in an equal state of panic.

No one was dead.  No one was dismembered.  Granted the Winchesters lost about four feet in height, but that was because they appeared to have shrunk, not because anything important had been cut off.

"Huh . . . well, at least they're cute."

Cute and potentially traumatized.  A pre-school sized Dean Winchester curled around his baby brother in the corner, staring at Castiel with the kind of terror usually reserved for slow-dancing aliens or big bad ugly things.  Even with Gabriel's sudden appearance, the kid didn't say a word.

Castiel gave Gabriel a cold look.

With a sigh, Gabriel crouched just out of arm's reach of the kids.  "Alright, boys, let me see what you've got yourself into now."  He held out his hand to Dean, but the kid wouldn't take it.  Gabriel really couldn't blame him.  "Bro, how about some pie to smooth things over?"

Castiel spoke stiffly and slowly.  "The Winchesters are vulnerable in a time of great danger, and you wish to have pastries?"

Gabriel sighed.  "Do you know what happened?"

"No, I discovered-"

"Pie," Gabriel ordered, and dismissed his brother with a snap of his fingers.  He'd pay for that later--Castiel got pissy about abuse of power--but there were more important things at stake.

"So, kiddo, what kind of cartoons do you like?  Me, I'm partial to the superheroes.  You just can't beat Superman.  Mild-mannered busybody journalist and then just like that," Gabriel snapped his fingers, adopting the costume for just a minute, "he's Superman."

The kid stared at him unblinkingly.  Gabriel sighed and reverted to his actual clothing.  "I should have known Dean Winchester would be a Batman fan," he sighed.

* * *

The pie was also a resounding failure, but eventually Dean appeared to decide that the two bumbling angesl were unlikely to be a threat to Sammy and emerged from the corner.

He even demonstrated an unusual show of trust by passing off his baby brother to Castiel.  Gabriel suspected the true cause was Sammy's obvious dirty diaper.

Castiel wrinkled his nose and held the baby out in front of him with a hand under each arm, firmly supporting the baby's back and neck with his extended fingers.

Dean watched anxiously, tugging on Castiel's trenchcoat until the angel looked down at him.  "Yes, Dean?"

The kid tugged again, eyes only for his brother.

"You're holding him wrong," Gabriel supplied.  "Kid's probably old enough to support his own head, but if it makes Dean feel better, you may as well cradle him."  At his brother's accusing look, Gabriel sputtered.  "Hey, who here has experience with babies?"

"You were afraid of the Holy Child," Castiel deadpanned.  "And he cried the entire time you held him.  But very well.  I concede to your greater experience, Gabriel."  He held out the baby, and Gabriel jumped backward.

"What?  No!  I don't know how to change a diaper any more than you do!"

Dean stared at them both incredulously, and gestured frantically for the return of his brother.  Castiel quickly obliged.  "Dean virtually raised Sam; do you suppose . . . ?"

"No," Gabriel shook his head as Dean hugged his brother to his chest.  "He's just a smart enough kid to realize we're total idiots."

"Idjits," Castiel corrected absently under his breath.  There was a pause and then the angels turned back as one.  "Bobby!"


	9. Ain't We Just

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Word Count: 380  
> Prompt: Written for entropynchaos: "SPN, Castiel + Gabriel + Dean + Sam, Big Damn Heroes."
> 
> Quotes taken from the episode "Safe" from Joss Whedon's "Firefly."

" _. . . in the nick of time.  Whaddya suppose that makes us?"_

There was a long silence.  Gabriel elbowed Sam in the ribs hard.  "Your line."

"Why am I Zoe again?"

"Because Dean's Jayne and Castiel makes much more sense in River or Simon's role.  Both.  Let's start from the top.  _Well, look at this!  Appears we got here just in the nick of time.  Whaddya suppose that makes us?_ " Gabriel turned and indicated Sam dramatically.

" _Big damn heroes, sir_ ," Sam mumbled.

" _Ain't we just_!" Gabriel bellowed loud enough to shake the roof.

Sam winced instinctively, and checked over his shoulder nervously.  "Can we just save Cas and the rest of the local virgins now, please?"

Gabriel visibly wilted, and Sam sighed and braced the shotgun properly.  He would humor the archangel out of a vague sense of guilt.  "Continue, Captain."

"I would like to get down before they light the fire, Gabriel," Castiel called in irritation.

"Got ya covered, Cas!" Dean shouted over the screams of demons and the rise of evil smoke and honest steam.  Sam had to admit that Gabriel's Super Soaker of holy water was actually rather inspired.  Now, the logistics of stealing a fire truck . . .

"If you all would stop interrupting," Gabriel bellowed, and pointed dramatically at the head demon with nothing more in his hand than a chocolate bar.  "Big gun . . . spaceship . . . out of our way . . . yaddayaddayadda . . . oh, yeah.  _Yeah, but he's our virgin.  So cut him the hell down._ "

Gabriel didn't actually give the demon a chance to comply.  He snapped his fingers, doing away with the demon and the mystically enhanced chains.  " _Gotta say, doctor, your talent for alienatin' people is near miraculous._ "

"They were not people.  They were demons.  And I do not hold a medical degree of any kind . . ."

"Fiction, Cas!" Dean bellowed from where he twisted on the hasty rig suspended from a skylight.  "Like Star Wars."

Gabriel glanced up at Dean with what he felt the appropriate amount of scorn.  Just for the sake of irritating Dean, Gabriel proclaimed loudly with full fanfare that "Space cowboys kick space pirate ass."

Dean cursed almost as fluently as Jayne Cobb might have.


	10. Funeral Ceremonies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 646  
> Prompt: Written for zekkass: "Supernatural, any of the angels, family events."

Once all of heaven mourned in unison at the loss of an angel.  Once, all angels were clustered in a tangle of wings, grace, and tears.  But even then--the angels were divided into two groups--the Fallen and the Host.  There had been no death before the fall.

Gradually, they filtered through the cracks.  Their numbers were smaller.  Their responsibilities were greater, wider spread.  Loyalties and shame and betrayal drove wedges into their brotherhood.  Now angels came to mourn one at a time, sparing a moment of intense grief to call their own.

Family events had been shattered for a long time, and it was always Gabriel who had tried to hold them together regardless.  So Michael thought that it would be a fitting tribute for the angels to gather once more--just once--and mourn their brother together.  For family to have meant something one last time for Gabriel to whom it had mattered so much.

Lucifer had fled the scene long before the Host arrived.  Raphael had beaten them there, and evidence of his rage and grief streamed for miles in every direction.  Gabriel had always been the thunder to Raphael's lightning--a companion, a grounding rod, an echo--and Raphael's storm was silent now.  Michael could trace it across the earth.  Raphael's need for vengeance overlaid Lucifer's sorrow.  When Michael finished here, he would have another funeral to attend.

The Host gathered here, but there were holes.  Deaths that had yet to heal over.  Some still never appeared; Michael felt weary frustration with his brethren.  Joshua refused to leave the Garden, and no one could find Castiel.

His weak attempt at reparation was just that.  Weak.  Michael pushed aside a bawling Cupid and knelt beside his brother.  His borrowed-hands braced against the floor in the ashy pattern of Gabriel's wings.  This would be the moment for one of Gabriel's cruel pranks and selfish laughter, but there was none.

Gabriel had stayed out of the battle.  Raphael fought under Michael without a second thought.  Gabriel died for humanity.  Raphael had destroyed all he could reach on his downward spiral.  Gabriel's final expression was of peace.  Raphael's would be of agony.

"The Morningstar and I . . . we did not do right by you both," Michael whispered, braced over his brother, fists curled into the ashes on either side of the messenger.  He swooped down and sealed his brother's forehead with a kiss.  Too late.

Michael stood and swept free of the others, flinging himself away to let the rest mourn as they would or leave secure in his absence.  He would not return to this earth until Lucifer stood before him for their final fight.

* * *

It was twenty-four hours later when a man trudged wearily through the doors of the abandoned motel.  He left coat and cell phone on a banquet table and crouched beside the archangel.  His hand was warm on the cool cheek.  His touch was gentle.

And for the first time in weeks, Castiel prayed.  "It should have been me, Father.  An archangel would have done so much more for the Winchesters than I ever could."

"Gabriel never had the right temperament to do as you have done," a voice spoke from behind him.  Castiel did not spare the Gardener a glance.  "It is one thing to stand apart from our brethren.  Gabriel loved too much to stand against them too."

"He did in the end."

"He bought the Winchesters time until your return," Joshua corrected gently.  "Gabriel never meant to survive this conflict."

Castiel pushed away from the ground.  "That is ridiculous.  If God has brought me back to save the Winchesters, why not Gabriel who is so much more important?"

"Who are you to question worth?" Joshua countered.

"How can you ignore so great a grief?"

"Because grief has no place in the garden."


	11. Angels We Have Heard on High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 694  
> Prompt: Written for phate_phoenix: "Supernatural; Dean (& or/) Castiel, Sam (& or /) Gabriel, Bobby; Most awkward post-apocalypse Christmas dinner ever."

"So."

"So."

Sam and Bobby shared commiserating expressions of pain. Dean stuttered to a stop, and Gabriel waited twitchily for someone to say something else.

Out of all of them, only Castiel behaved as normal, sitting patiently and serenely at the foot of the table. He may have been considering Bobby's lack of hat or staring at the attractive post Apocolypse paint job of the dining room or contemplating the existence of a turkey half his size in the dead center of the dining room table.

"It's Christmas," Sam broke into the four-way staring contest (Castiel's focus remained on the bird). "And you're angels . . . so I don't know . . . shouldn't we say grace or something?"

"It is not Christmas," Gabriel corrected irritably, poking at his empty plate. Sam wondered if Gabriel was deliberately changing the color of the china or that was just an absentminded display of power. "It is a commercial holiday loosely based on an event that actually occurred in late March."

Sam blinked. "Really?"

He got a look of withering scorn. "I should know."

Sam swallowed and decided that silence was good. Dean had already reached that conclusion and was staring at the food with longing.

Bobby huffed. "If one of you two feather-brained idjits doesn't say a prayer in the next ten seconds, I will and you'll be darn grateful too!"

Castiel cleared his throat, and that gave them all the excuse they desperately needed to bow their heads and not meet anyone else's eyes.

"Our Father who art in Heaven . . ."

Thankfully, Dean and Gabriel both managed to keep their mouths shut. Sam kicked Dean, and by the muffled thump across the table, he suspected Castiel had done the same to Gabriel--not that Castiel's perfectly even prayer hinted at such violence.

"Amen." Castiel turned calmly to the oldest Winchester and offered a basket of rolls. "Yes, you may eat now, Dean."

"Stay out of my head," Dean growled, and reached for the meat. Bobby slapped his hand away automatically from longterm exposure to hungry Winchesters.

"I didn't mean to . . ." Castiel trailed off, brow furrowed as Dean proceeded to inhale a rather large bite of jello salad in one bite. Gabriel snickered quietly from across the table, and Sam realized that the jello salad originally placed on the table had been orange--not blue.

He let it slide. Today was supposed to be a holiday. They were celebrating.

"Celebrating what, Sam?" Castiel asked, studying a forkful of stuffing with a suspicious gaze. "And are these candy canes, Gabriel?"

The archangel leaned over, commandeered the utensil in question and pushed it into Castiel's mouth when the younger angel opened it to protest. "Yes. They're good for you." Gabriel turned back to Sam with an eyebrow raised. "And just what are we supposed to be celebrating if not the birth of the Christ Child, Sammy?"

"How about surviving the apocalypse?" Sam shrugged. "Every one at this table has died at least once in the last five years . . . and here we are. Still standing-er-sitting."

"My illusions don't count," Gabriel informed him around a mouthful of the pie that had appeared out of nowhere. Dean reached for the baked goods like it was his own personal Holy Grail.

Sam grimaced. "They should." He remembered his hands wet with Bobby's blood, with Gabriel's blood . . . cradling Dean's broken body in his arms. They were realistic enough to be mingled in his nightmares of the growls of hell hounds, a knife in his back, Death up close and personal, or finding Castiel's teeth in a drunk prophet's hair.

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Those events are past us now, Samuel. You should let them go."

"I just think it bears mentioning," Sam defended. "That even after ending the apocolypse, we're not dead. It's kind of nice to be alive together even for a commercialistic holiday."

Dean and Gabriel stared at him in mutual disdain. Then Dean turned to Gabriel. "Please tell me you can do beer."

The soon-to-be Annual Team Free Will Christmas Dinner went much smoother with alcohol on the table.


	12. Don't Drink and Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 772  
> Prompt: Written for kijikun: "Supernatural, Gabriel, John, "John Winchester? Me and you need to have a little talk about the way you're raising those boys of yours.""

John was waiting in the bar for a short guy that no one knew by name, but was always on the scene when some bastard met with an ironic end. His sources agreed that the man was always smiling or laughing-too jovial to dislike, but "well, it's mildly creepy at a crime scene, ya know?"

John suspected a trickster, but he had yet to lay eyes on the guy himself. He had a stake and some funky herbs that Bobby swore would be useful in attracting the thing. So far all they had done was stink.

Even the poor slob on the stool next to him commented on the smell, leaning too far over and almost passing out in John's lap. John nudged the empty glasses aside to prop the guy up against the counter. "I think it's time the bartender cut you off of whatever you're drinking, buddy."

"Most of the liquor in Wisconsin," his companion belched, and let his head fall to the countertop with a thud. That seemed to help, because he raised it and let it collide again. And again. And again.

John wordlessly shoved a stack of napkins under the man's forehead. It took two softened-collisions to click. He glared up at John, who had already returned to scouting the bar for a short, sadistic, and smiley guy.

"Hey." A moment, then louder. "Hey!" John sighed and looked down. The guy was wasted and indignant now. "I was doing something here."

"No need to dent the countertop with your hard head," John shrugged.

The man squinted at him. "Hey, I know you. You're . . . hah! You're one to talk, Mr. Stubborn-as-a-Mule."

"Look, man, I don't know you from Adam."

"He isn't even born yet," his self-decided companion scowled and ordered another drink. "Next year. Nice little surprise for you. Unless you mean the Biblical Adam . . . 'course it's all his fault. And yours."

Crazy with religious undertones. Possibly a hunter, possibly a thing. Not currently dangerous. It could wait. John frowned and stood. "I'm going to go."

"Not so fast." A grip like steel closed around his wrist and hauled him back down to the stool. "John Winchester. John Winchester?" he repeated unsure now. He squinted again. "Yeah, I know you."

John was reaching for his gun.

"John Winchester? Me and you need to have a little talk about the way you're raising those boys of yours."

"What do you know about my boys?" John seethed.

"What don't I know?" The drunk gestured wildly, knocking glasses to the floor. "Everything. I know everything. Past, present, future . . . I'm practically a Disney cartoon."

John leaned back, not getting any further with the grip the guy had on his left arm.

"And you know, man, I tried to stop it. Keep trying to stop it. It's just that they're really stubborn, you know? And that's all on you . . . I mean the co-dependency issues alone . . ." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"You stay away from my boys," John growled.

His new acquaintance looked offended. "Hey, they found me first! And if they'd just listen, we could all go our merry ways without the world ending. But no, stubborness is the Winchester way!" The guy almost slid off the bar stool, but John caught him rather than follow him to the floor.

"I like your boys. Really I do. They're the stupidest humans I ever met, but hey, Dean's got a great sense of humor and Sam makes an awesome Bill Murray . . . and where's the bartender? My hangover's fading . . ." the guy trails off, looking at John as if seeing him for the first time. "Oh, shit. You're real."

"Good to know. You going to continue or should I just shoot you now?"

The guy let him go and turned back to the bar. "Don't listen to me. I'm drunk."

"A little late. Who are you?"

"Nobody important. It's what I get for mucking with the time-space continuum while drunk." He clapped a hand on John's back. "Been great hanging with you, big guy, but I've got to get going before my evil twin shows up. He belongs here-er-now, and I have been known to be a little territorial."

He staggered to his feet, using John for leverage, and frowned when John followed. The guy barely came to his shoulder. "I can see where Sasquatch gets it," the man commented, snapped his fingers, and disappeared.

John privately resolved to parent exactly the way he had been parenting and perhaps step it up a notch.


	13. Unspeakable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 139  
> Prompt: Written for yoruichiyoshi12: "Supernatural, Dean, he goes on a junkfood binge after his time as Dean Smith."

"Um, Dean?"  
  
"Shug-fuper," Dean growled, automatically curling around the plate of pie.  
  
With many years of practice at understanding Dean talking with his mouth full, and an equal number of years devoted to ignoring Dean, Sam translated and promptly disobeyed.  
  
"Man, that's gross," Sam complained. "And don't you think this is taking things a little far? That's the third full pie today."  
  
"Dude, the guy made me eat . . . eat . . . salads," Dean shuddered.  
  
"So you're making up for lost time? I could accept the pie. I could accept the M&Ms, the soda, and the coffee. I could accept the burgers and fries. But all together, man?"  
  
Dean finished his pie and pointed the fork at Sam to punctuate ever word. "It. Was. Salad."  
  
Sam gave up and flagged down the waitress for more pie.


	14. Manageable Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 540  
> Prompt: Written for effingeden: Any; Any; "I can't explain and I won't even try."

Bobby has been known to entertain all sorts of unusual guests at the Salvage Yard--angels, demons, humans, psychics, witches, large animals, and on one very memorable occasion a pregnant redhead with a monster truck and a dead ex.  
  
Singer Salvage is a very exciting place.  
  
Today was a slow day. The ongoing feud over the Belgian chocolate in the kitchen between the archangel Gabriel and the crossroads demon Crowley . . . was a biweekly occurrence. So long as they put the kitchen back to rights when they were done trying to kill each other, Bobby was content to let the pair go at it without interference.  
  
Unfortunately, there is no Winchester alive or dead that knows the meaning of "Shut up and take cover." This generally is a cause of concern for Bobby, but to be honest, the consequences were nowhere near as bad as they could have been.  
  
Bobby considers asking the archangel to leave the boys this way once Gabriel works up the courage to return (both demon and angel took off in opposite entrances when Bobby appeared to investigate the sudden silence--Crowley with the chocolate). The boys are much more manageable with four legs and a tail.  
  
Dean disagrees, locking small teeth around the ankle of Bobby's boot. Sam sits back on his butt and howls mournfully at the ceiling.  
  
Bobby represses a smile out of sheer determination and scoops up a fuzzy-bellied Dean in one hand to deposit in a convenient mixing-bowl. The golden retriever puppy attempts to upset the economy-sized mixing bowl by running up the rounded sides. When it doesn't work, Dean chose to do the next best thing and took a nap.  
  
Sam would not be placated so easily. The smaller darker puppy wants to play, and Bobby pitches a shoe down the hall for the chocolate lab to chase. It's Sam's own shoe and bigger than the puppy, but that doesn't stop a bullheaded Winchester dog from dragging it a few inches at a time. Bobby caves and throws it again.  
  
After two days, Bobby gives up and makes a run to town for proper dog food, two collars, and a leash. Dean sleeps curled at the foot of Bobby's bed, while Sam likes to sleep half-in and half-out of the shoe that has seen much better days than the last two.  
  
Bobby's never had it so easy. The boys can't backtalk, or get over the improvised fencing that Bobby uses to confine them to approved rooms/sections of yard. Sam and Dean haven't risked life and limb in sixty-four hours. They're not collecting any damsels in distress or endangered children for Bobby to deal with. They're even housebroken despite their relative size and age, for which Bobby considers himself most fortunate.  
  
They make an abysmal alarm system, he considers later. Despite alerting Bobby to the presence of a chicken, a squirrel, the Impala, each other, and Bobby's desk chair--neither makes a peep when Castiel appears in the living room and scoops Sam into his lap. Dean rolls over, begging for a belly rub, and the angel obliges.  
  
"I have missed something?"  
  
Bobby snorted. "I can't explain and I won't even try."  
  
Castiel nods agreeably, and the quiet reigns.


	15. A Hunter's Take on Driver's Ed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG  
> Word Count: 419  
> Prompt: Written for hugglewolf: "SPN, Castiel, Bobby - You should never teach your kids how to drive."

"Key, ignition, gas, brake, wheel."

"Dean frequently uses--"

"You let me worry about that part, Feathers, and prove that you can actually start the car first. Sometime today."

"The hoard is moving closer," the former-angel observed.

Bobby grit his teeth, and pressed his shirt against the bullet hole in his thigh. "Which is why we need to get moving. Key. Ignition."

Castiel obeyed, studying the metal object in his hand with dire suspicion before inserting it as directed. "And now I turn it?"

Bobby counted back from three. They were in a hurry after all. "Yes. Turn the dang key and keep your foot on the brake. Good. Now I'll ease us out of park, and you're gonna hit the gas as hard as you can."

"Such an action would result in speeds not permitted by-"

"Driving rules and regulations are second lesson," the hunter snapped, trying to maintain pressure and pop in his dislocated shoulder simultaneously. Since when could _ye olde time hoards_ move that fast? "Get a move on!"

Bobby just barely caught himself on the dash as Castiel sent them flying down the dirt road that they had come in on.

Castiel eased his grip on the steering wheel. "This is not so hard," he commented, keeping his eyes on the rear view mirror. "I believe I could handle all elements of-"

"Consider yourself lucky that you have control over both the gas and the break, boy," Bobby grunted, reaching over to steady the wheel for his own peace-of-mind. Castiel dutifully paid more attention to the direction of the car, and Bobby managed to tie off his destroyed flannel as a pressure bandage. "There's a shed up ahead another half a mile. Break there, and we'll switch."

"You should not attempt to maneuver the pedals with your left foot," Castiel lectured self-righteously. "Dean has said that only-"

"I know what Dean says," Bobby growled, bracing himself. "Now break!"

Castiel obeyed, and employed the emergency break of his own initiative. Bobby couldn't have felt prouder.

As he leveraged himself out of the passenger seat, Bobby reached out to the hovering former-angel. Castiel popped his shoulder back in with a sharp twist and Bobby bit back the shout, clapping the other man on the back with his good hand. They switched places.

Bobby ran relieved hands over all parts in reach and nodded. "Not bad, son. Now we were in a bit of a hurry, but next time you may want to try something other than reverse."


	16. Pop Culture 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 215  
> Prompt: Written for weesta: "Supernatural, Dean & Castiel, "Luke . . . I am your father.""

"These movies are illogical."  
  
Dean swore and upended the popcorn. Castiel tilted his head. "Darth Vader can not be Luke's father. Both Luke's relatives and Obi Wan Kenobi have stated that Luke's father is dead."  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. "They were lying, Cas. No one wants to tell a kid that his Dad is the second-most-evil son-of-a-bitch in the galaxy."  
  
"They lied," Castiel repeated doubtfully.  
  
"Yes, they lied."  
  
"I am beginning to see why you enjoy these movies with unrealistic demonstrations of gore and an illogical religion," Castiel frowned. "Those Luke trusted have lied to him. Han Solo has lied to just about everyone he has come in contact with."  
  
"Hey, leave Han out of it," Dean protested. "Those are more misunderstandings due to special circumstances."  
  
"They are lies."  
  
Dean turned the popcorn bucket over Castiel's head just as Sam opened the door. His brother paused in the doorway, juggling his laptop and health food. Castiel cautiously peered out from under the edge of the popcorn bucket.  
  
"Hey, Sammy."  
  
"Good evening, Sam."  
  
Sam shut the door behind him. "Pop Culture 101 is going that well?"  
  
"Dean's choice is filled with scantily clad women, unrealistic gore, illogical religion and lies, Sam," Castiel reported self-righteously.  
  
Dean muttered "Tattle-tale" under his breath.  
  
Sam nodded. "Sounds like Star Wars."


	17. Poker Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 201  
> Prompt: Written for cougarcat: "SPN, Missouri & Crowley, battling for Bobby's soul."

"A night in Vegas," Crowley suggested, knowing that he would not tempt this client into one of his normal deals. "A little competition in a nice little casino that one of my friend's just so happens to own, some excellent wine, and perhaps an opportunity to make use of the complimentary hot tub . . . and the winner of the evening takes all," he finished hurriedly as fingers start tapping on the over-stuffed chair.

No such luck.

"A game of poker. I always make a point of playing fair with beautiful women, and I've heard of your legendary poker face . . ."

The dreaded tapping continued.

"A horse race? There's a particularly large one a few states over and I can give you good odds on a real beauty . . . no, no. I don't suppose you're overly involved in the stock market? No, of course not."

Singer was actually sniggering to himself over in the corner. Crowley privately resolved to make the hunter's life more miserable than normal, and winced under the knowing raise of an eyebrow.

"A game of dice?" he asked just a little desperately. "Rock-paper-scissors?"

"Boy, don't make me hit you with a spoon."


	18. Girls in White Dresses (With Blue Satin Sashes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 724  
> Prompt: Written for mildly_deluded: "SPN, Claire!Castiel, Gabriel, "A little girl? Seriously?""

"A little girl?  Seriously?"  
  
Castiel looked up and up until he met his brother's golden eyes with his own blue ones.  His current vessel is not of an advantageous height to be dealing with this sort of thing--i.e. Gabriel.  
  
Not that being six feet tall would have helped him much in the face of an archangel's wrath, but this is Gabriel.  Gabriel doesn't go for wrath until he's gone through every other option first.  
  
In this instance, it's laughing hysterically, folded over in half in such a way that makes all of the bystanders in TV land stare at them.  Castiel comforts himself by remembering that his old vessel would have had four inches on Gabriel's current vessel.  having baby brothers outgrow you tended to be a sore point with all older brothers, Dean had assured him.  
  
"You're adorable," Gabriel gasps out between laughing and reaches out to pet Claire's golden head gently.  "Absolutely freaking adorable . . ." and Gabriel's lost in laughter again.  
  
Castiel sighs, and glances around the small family kitchen irritably.  He is unfamiliar with this television show.  There is a lack of scantily clad women so prevalent in Dean's choices.  There is simply a table of people eating their meal and watching Gabriel with a sort of fond indulgence.  
  
"Where are we, Gabriel?"  
  
" _Full House_ ," Gabriel answered.  
  
On cue, the father of the family looked up and smiled at Castiel.  "Everything alright, sweetheart?"  
  
Castiel sighed, ducking behind Gabriel.  Adults made him nervous.  They tended to separate him from Dean and ask strange questions.  
  
"I've got this one, buddy," Gabriel waved off the actor, and everyone vanished except for the two angels.  
  
"Why did you bring me here, Gabriel?"  
  
"'Cause I couldn't drop you off in the show with the vampires like I had planned," Gabriel replied absently.  "I knew you were coming, but boy, when I got a look at you . . . well, I almost couldn't believe my eyes."  Gabriel crouched to put himself on the same level as Castiel, and frowned.  "A little girl?"  
  
"Claire wished to save her family," Castiel responded stiffly.  "I was . . . too late for her father.  Her mother is well and being looked after by distant relatives.  It was necessary, Gabriel.  The Winchesters need to be looked after."  
  
Gabriel snorted.  "'Cause they're doing such a bang-up job of looking after you?  Look at yourself, bro."  
  
"It was necessary to take Claire as a vessel," Castiel began to repeat.  
  
"No, no . . . I'm talking about the outfit, Castiel," Gabriel waved.  
  
Castiel took a moment to pursue his attire.  Sam and Dean had outfitted him in more durable clothes after he had confessed to slowly losing his grace.  Castiel suspected guilt to be the biggest motivational factor, but Dean also had expressed an intense dislike of pink that made Castiel suspect foul play in regards to his former outfit.  
  
His clothes were serviceable.  Castiel hadn't cared, allowing Dean to choose as the hunter saw fit.  Thus, he wore jeans, boots, a t-shirt, flannel shirt, and a denim jacket.  Sam had been the one to cut Claire's hair after the fight with six demons.  
  
All the same, Castiel saw nothing wrong with his attire.  
  
He told Gabriel as much, and was unsurprised when the archangel made his own corrections to Castiel's wardrobe with a snap.  
  
Castiel inspected a long curl with a frown, but shrugged and released the lock of springy hair.  It could be cut again without too much trouble.  He also seemed to have acquired a kitten, which was neither here nor there.  The dress on the other hand . . . lace itched.  
  
Castiel may help Dean with the salting-and-burning of the dress if they ever managed to escape.  
  
"Acceptable?" he asked his brother dryly.  
  
"It'll do for now," Gabriel chuckled, petting Castiel rather than the cat.  "Oops, the boys think they have me figured out.  Be right back."  
  
Gabriel disappeared, adn the sitcom family reappeared.  Heaving a sigh, Castiel took the empty seat between a man waxing poetical about his hair and the tallest blonde daughter.  Pushing back the sleeves of his dress, Castiel reached across the table for a hamburger and settled back to wait for his brother's return in a modicum of comfort.  
  
The kitten began to purr.  Castiel fed it a chunk of hamburger.


	19. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 531  
> Prompt: Written for hugglewolf: "SPN, crazed!Dean, awesome!Sam, awesome!Bobby, hurt!Castiel - Dean gets cursed but it works by convincing him Castiel is the one that's been affected. He locks Castiel up somewhere - maybe in the car's trunk, now angel proofed, or the panic room - and Castiel hurts himself trying to escape. Sam and Bobby take care of them both."

Dean is burrowed under a pile of blankets on the sofa.  He's asleep now, and won't remember this in the morning.  It is better that way.  
  
Sam covers his brother with another blanket, and stands over Dean quietly for a long minute.  It is the only thing that Sam can do, and Castiel has been watching Sam bring blankets all morning.  The only visible parts of Dean are his left elbow and one foot that persistently kicks free of the mountain of covers.  
  
After his minute of silence, Sam comes and plunks down in the empty chair across from Castiel.  He cradles Castiel's good hand in both of his own large ones.  If Castiel understands the humans correctly, he is to squeeze when the pain becomes worse.  
  
It's not an option.  His grip could easily crush Sam's hands to dust; Castiel is still an angel.  And the pain comes and goes in flashes, but Castiel has withstood much worse.  He does not feel it as a human might.  
  
The sentiment is nice though.  
  
"Most fool thing I ever did see," a voice grumbles at his back.  There are very few men that Castiel would trust at his back.  Fewer still that he would trust enough to put his battered wings in human hands.  
  
Considering the state of his wings, however, Castiel is filled with the grim certainty that Bobby Singer doesn't care whether the angel trusts him or not.  Something has to be done, and Bobby's not above doing things without permission.  
  
It's okay though, because Bobby does have Castiel's permission.  
  
"This is why I gave you the darn phone," Bobby continues to growl.  
  
"I do not believe you foresaw Dean becoming irrationally charged by a stray curse and confining me to the panic room," Castiel is deadpan.  
  
Bobby tweaks an errant feather harder than necessary.  Castiel closes his mouth obediently.  Bobby continues his work, the calloused and worn hands deft as he performs this task.  "So you can get into contact with us when stuff like this happens, Feathers."  
  
Castiel does not blush.  But the cell phone was the last thing on his mind when he found himself confined in an angel-proof space while Dean ran amuck under the influence of a powerful curse.  He had tried to escape and his wings had been damaged badly by the constant beating they had taken against the wards.  
  
Sam is patting his hand.  Castiel turns to his friend, belatedly realizing that Sam understands.  Sam has been there.  He has been confined by brother and friend and done considerable damage to himself in the desperation to escape.  He has also . . . for so terribly brief a time, and yet too long . . . known the feel of wings at his back while possessed by Lucifer.  
  
Castiel squeezes Sam's hand so very carefully back even though his wings no longer ache.  His friend's face lightens, and Castiel reaches out with grace to soothe the troubled soul automatically.  Bobby gets bathed in the same wave, and his grumbling intensifies.  It's the old hunter's way of caring.  As his grace settles, Castiel reins in his bitterness and surrenders himself to his family's care.


	20. Spawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 751  
> Prompt: Written for wandersfound: "Castiel makes it his mission to understand Dean's pop culture references next time he returns to earth. He works on this by playing Trivial Pursuit with with various minor characters in heaven."

"Good evening, Jo."  
  
Jo whimpered, but didn't turn around.  That would be a sign of weakness.  Stronger animals pounced at signs of weakness.  "We're kinda busy here, Cas.  Do you need something?"  
  
Note to self:  _"Do you need something?" needs to go the same way as "Can I do something for you?" when faced with literal (and deviously manipulative) angels._  
  
"Yes, please.  I have discovered a new subspecies and require the assistance of you and your mother to master it."  
  
 _Not another one,_ Jo sobbed inside.  _Please, not another one.  Do they spawn or something?  What have I done to deserve this?_  
  
Outside, she turned and gave the slightly incredulous glance upwards that could shame a Winchester at 20 paces.  Sadly, it didn't work on their guardian angel, but Jo gave it her all.  
  
"And it can't wait until closing?" she pulled her best Mom-voice.  
  
"I find it better to deal with these things while the lore is still fresh in my mind," Castiel returned with falsified obliviousness.  
  
Jo would not look.  She refused.  She kept her eyes trained on the angel's pretty face and big blue eyes.  She . . . couldn't resist sating her dang curiousity.  
  
And tucked innocuously under the angel's arm, half-obscured by a fold of trenchcoat was the helpless cardboard box bearing the words _Star Wars Trivial Pursuit_.  
  
Now that Jo thought about it, there was a hole the shape of the _Millennium Falcon_ in the angel's grasp of pop culture.  It didn't mean she wouldn't be sending a message to earth asking Bobby to look into the den of evil that produced the board game in all of its annoying variations.  Obviously, there was demonic influence at work here.  
  
Why else would the new Sheriff of Heaven was wasting his time with a board game?  Jo knew what Crowley was up to when the slippery snake suggested _Trivial Pursuit_ to the angel at the last debriefing.  The demon was undermining Heaven from within for his eventual take-over.  
  
And no one had noticed except for Jo . . . who was promptly discounted as a bad loser after 6 rounds of the original _Trivial Pursuit_.  It had taken the unholy alliance of Victor Hendrikson and Ash in order to topple Castiel from his winning streak.  
  
Then they had moved on to _Harry Potter Trivial Pursuit_ , and then _Disney_ (Gabriel had sulked for weeks after losing that one, and Castiel breaking out in song stopped being funny after the second round of "Whistle While You Work").  
  
John showed up from time to time, shame-faced and quiet until drunk enough to debate the finer points of 1980s television with both Dad and Mom.  
  
This wasn't even taking into consideration the upheaval that came with the _**Gallagher Factor**_ , when Andy smoked them all at _Genius Editions 1 & 2_, plus _Book Lovers_.  Or the Cupids being driven to tears over the _Country Music_ expansion pack.  
  
Castiel began to cheat.  
  
All signs of demonic take-over plans at work.  The host should be thanking Jo for her efforts to cut their leader off now.  
  
She was strong.  She could do this.  Really.  
  
"I don't think we have the ti--"  
  
"Castiel!  Where have you been, boy?  Is that the new game ya told me about?"  
  
And Jo's night hit a new low.  Her mother was conspiring with the enemy behind her back.  "Mom, the bar . . ." she tried.  
  
"Ain't no one in here who hasn't got the time for a round of _Trivial Pursuit_ . . . or two," Ellen announced, that suspiciously evil gleam in her eye.  Big bad hunters subtly inched towards the door.  "Ash, get on out here.  We got company!"  
  
"I shall set it up," Castiel offered virtuously.  
  
Ellen patted his cheek.  "I'll just get us some beers and those brownies that Mary sent over.  C'mon, Jo, and help me."  
  
Jo could do nothing, but trail behind her mother.  "Why?" she hissed as soon as they were out of view.  Not earshot, but with angels, you had to take what you could get.  "Why do you encourage him?"  
  
"'Cause it's so dang adorable, I could just spit," Ellen grimaced as she worked.  "And besides, if it'll make Dean Winchester look like a fool, I've just got to be part of it."  
  
Jo peered outside.  They'd already accumulated Ash, both senior Winchesters, an archangel, and Jimmy Novak.  Also Pam was taking an unhealthy interest in the proceedings.  
  
"Break out the wings, Joanna Beth.  Looks to be a real party."


	21. Not Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 259  
> Prompt: Written for haruslex: "He took a day off to go to Claire Novak's flute recital."

It was just a stupid recital.  
  
Claire didn't even really want to go, and she was in it, so she didn't know why her mom was rushing around, dressed like it was some really fancy event.  
  
The bow tie itched.  Claire tugged at it, irritably.  The school uniforms were awful, but her mother had taken six pictures of Claire all dressed-up for this, posing with her flute.  
  
Claire wondered just who's idea playing the lfute had been originally.  'Cause it sure wasn't hers.  
  
And that little surprise solo that Miss Sterburg foisted off on her last minute because Melissa got sick?  It went just as horribly as Claire had expected.  
  
But the whole event had been worth it, because as the audience stood up to clap enthusiastically (more for the imminent refreshments than any middle school talent displayed), Claire caught sight of the flapping tan fabric that signified a certain someone's presence.  
  
Claire jumped on a chair, ignoring her horrified best friend yanking on her pant leg, and just caught sight of the familiar profile before it disappeared from the hall.  By the time Leah had yanked her off the chair, Claire was smiling for the first time in months.  
  
He had been leaning against the back wall of the gym, and who knows where he had vanished off to.  She wasn't even sure if it was her father or Castiel watching, but it didn't matter to Claire.  
  
Either way, it meant that she and her mother hadn't been forgotten.  It meant that Daddy would be coming home soon.


	22. The Whole World Goes Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 704  
> Prompt: Written for hugglewolf: "SPN, Team Free Will, mute!Castiel: Not long after they escape Gabriel's TV world, a demon or other thingy causes Castiel to lose his voice. He doesn't cope well, but Sam and Dean are there to calm him down and ground him."

The first time, Castiel looked around wildly for his brother--half-expecting the smirking face and a snap of fingers.  
  
All the other times that followed, Castiel could only wish it was the flighty archangel with the attention span of a gnat. That his lack of speech could be attributed to something as flimsy as duct tape.  
  
Gabriel had been the first to deprive Castiel of speech. Raphael had been the one to take it from him permanently.  
  
The healer had been the one to mangle Jimmy Novak's throat and vocal chords with invasive fingers and burning grace, and destroy the fundamental part of Castiel's true self made for praise, and song. In a way, losing his wings would have been less painful.  
  
Sign language was a poor substitute to the power of Castiel's voice--even muffled as it had been by his vessel.  
  
Castiel could not call upon his brothers, pray to his Father, or even warn the Winchesters of the advancing threat. So hauling his own demonic challenger with him, Castiel reappeared directly behind the unwary brothers as an angelic shield.

* * *

By the time Dean could turn around, the threat had been neutralized. Castiel stood, looking for once like the powerful being he was with his hand locked around a hellhound's throat and holding the entire beast aloft. Under his other arm, the demon's eyes spin wildly as his meatsuit hung limply from a headlock strong enough to break the poor guy's spinal cord. The trenchcoat flutters like a freaking cape in the irrational breeze blowing through the decrepit warehouse.  
  
It looks pretty darn impressive . . . which is why Dean's a step behind Sam, who has abandoned the victim like day-old fast food for Castiel.  
  
There's a thump as Castiel drops the demon. The sound is muted, and Dean moves automatically to bury the demon-killing knife in its chest. His attention is on Sam and Castiel.  
  
"Come on, Cas. Let it go," his brother encourages, one gigantic hand clasped all the way around the angel's outstretched arm. "It's no big deal. Really."  
  
Dean belatedly realizes that the blood that makes the hellhound distinguishable is coming from Castiel's grip on the thing's neck. The blood is also running down Castiel's arm, staining the formerly immaculate trenchcoat sleeve. The source of the blood? Castiel's fingers buried several inches deep in the thing's throat.  
  
Shit.  
  
The victim is still shrieking. Castiel is still silent--blue eyes big and round, mouth open in little half-gasps for unnecessary breath. Sam is still making encouraging noises and pawing at the falling angel.  
  
Dean ignores them all, and cautiously wraps an arm around the dead beast's body. Dead or not, it sucks that he has to get this close to evil!Lassie, but it's Dean turn to take one for the team this week.  
  
Bobby handled the succubus last week, and Sam faced Becky the week before that. Castiel has been permanently removed from the list.  
  
Sam catches on and wraps an arm around Castiel's chest. Once he's secure, Dean begins the disgusting task of digging Castiel's fingers out of the hellhound's neck. The creature finally comes loose and Dean tosses it aside, wrinkling his nose.  
  
Castiel's knees gave out, and Sam is lowering him to the floor cautiously. Now that Castiel seems to have regained control of his hand again, he's clutching at his throat as he continues that odd gasping intake of breath. Under the new layers of hellhound blood, are the scars that mirror the injury to the beast's neck.  
  
They'll give him another minute, and Castiel will pull himself back together. He'll blink and his clothes and skin will be pristine once more. He'll make an irritated sign for Sam's benefit, stony expression firmly in place and disappear for another two weeks on his search for God. He always does.  
  
The teenage girl is still screaming. Dean can't take the sound another minute, and turns just enough to glare at her over his shoulder. "Shut. Up."  
  
She swallows the cry with a little gulping noise, and Castiel suddenly snorts a silent, strangled huff of laughter as he stared at his bloody hands.  
  
And Dean would kind of like to gank Raphael all over again.


	23. Gun Shy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 212  
> Prompt: Written for hugglewolf: "SPN, Team Free Will, addicted!Castiel: Post 'My Bloody Valentine', it's Castiel they need to lock in the panic room, and it's hard all round. Especially when Castiel is scared and distrustful of the Winchesters afterwards."

When the door finally opens, Castiel isn't waiting on the other side. Dean actually has to go in and pull the angel up off the floor, drag one limp arm over his shoulders, and guide him outside again.  
  
He tries to ignore Castiel trembling under his arm.  
  
Sam meets them at the top of the stairs, anxious and in Castiel's space as the youngest member of Team Freewill perfects his best puppy dog impression. Anxious circling, pleading eyes, and overeager nature are all out in full force. If the kid had a tail, he'd be wagging it hopefully.  
  
Castiel shudders away from the offer of hot soup, sandwiches, and calling out for pizza. "I am not hungry, Sam," he insists weakly, not meeting either brother's eyes.  
  
Sam's metaphorical tail droops.  
  
"I . . . I do not wish to eat anything ever again," Castiel declares, and Sammy retreats, tail firmly tucked between his legs.  
  
"Alright, no food," Dean decides. "But you really do need to get out of that suit and into a shower, Cas."  
  
"I do not require . . ."  
  
"It'll make you feel better, Cas," Dean explains earnestly. "Just trust me, alright?"  
  
In retrospect, Dean might have chosen better words, he considered as he surveyed the suddenly angel-less kitchen.

* * *

"Why is the angel on the roof?" Bobby demanded, wheeling into the kitchen.  
  
"Hello to you too, Bobby," Dean sighed.  
  
Bobby gave the eldest Winchester a good hard look, and then with a huff, smacked Dean upside the back of the head. Dean narrowly avoided being knocked from his chair, and turned back to glare at the older hunter.  
  
"Go get him," was the terse command, and Dean reluctantly untangled himself from the kitchen furniture to obey with Sam at his heels.  
  
"And get my groceries outta the van while yer at it!"  
  
Dean considered that maybe Singer Salvage was just too small for three hunters and their sometime-guardian angel.  
  
Castiel was on the roof just as Bobby had said, standing at the peak, fists clenched in the pockets of the trenchcoat. Dean gives an idle thought to the kind of traction on Jimmy Novak's shoes.  
  
"I don't think Bobby's got a ladder that high, Dean," Sam worried at his side.  
  
Dean resisted pulling a face. Just how were they supposed to get a nervous angel off the roof anyway? Even if they had a ladder, Castiel could flit off to Timbuktu before they could scale it.  
  
"Do you require something?" Castiel asked stiffly without looking down.  
  
"Could you get your fool neck off my roof before you break it?!" Bobby yells from behind them, making the Winchesters jump.  
  
Castiel shook his head once. "I cannot. I am waiting for my grace to recharge."  
  
There was a great deal of swearing, none of which managed to ruffle Castiel who continued to stare out across the horizon.  
  
"I will not harm the roof," Castiel promised, finally glancing down at the hunters, although the look is fleeting.  
  
"I'm talkin' about yer neck!" Bobby bellowed.  
  
Castiel didn't deign to reply.  
  
Dean's dimly aware of Sam talking Bobby back inside and the gruff hunter's strange acquiescence. But he's focused on shielding his eyes and craning his neck to look at the unmoving angel.  
  
And then he finds himself sitting on the grass up against the side of the house detailing all the work a rusted piece of crap on the edge of Bobby's lot would need to run as the angel listened or ignored him from above. He finishes the truck, and moves on to the station wagon next to it. It's inane, but if he doesn't say something, Dean's gonna end up spilling his guts about everything else that went wrong this weekend, and he's not giving up his current edge on the mind-reading angel.  
  
And he's not going to tell Cas of the gut-wrenching guilt and despair that came with sitting outside the panic room door just like this as Dean had tried drinking himself into an early grave. It was quieter this time around without Castiel's cries to bear. Without the sucker punch that came when his name was replaced with Sam's. Or Sam's devastated expression because the younger man knows he couldn't open the door and comfort his newfound friend. Castiel doesn't need to know about Dean falling to pieces out in the Salvage and praying for assistance that never came, or the guilt that came with Castiel's newfound nervous ticks.  
  
He doesn't say any of these things. But he thinks them.  
  
Sam comes out onto the porch, leaning against the railing, but whatever he was going to ask Dean is cut off by Castiel's abrupt appearance three inches from Sam's nose.  
  
There is a long awkward silence as Castiel's blue eyes seem to bore into hazel. Sam cleared his throat. "Um, Cas?"  
  
"I am sorry, Sam Winchester."  
  
Sam blinked. Dean's fairly sure his mouth is hanging open.  
  
"W-what for?"  
  
"For not having the strength or courage to protect you as you have done for me," Castiel intoned softly.  
  
Sam doesn't know what to do with that. "Um . . . thanks, I guess." He looked down and away, then back up shyly. "You sure you don't want to give pizza a try?"  
  
"I would prefer the . . . Vegetarian one," Castiel confided, and Dean is going to mock them both for that later, but right now he'll let it all go.  
  
Sam ducked back into the house, and Dean approached Castiel slowly. He drops one hand on the angel's shoulder. Castiel flinched, but did not move away.  
  
"I thought you were waiting for your grace to recharge," Dean asked suspiciously.  
  
Castiel tilted his head to the side.  
  
"I lied."


	24. Because Sam Winchester is My Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 385  
> Prompt: Written for hells_bells: "Supernatural, Sam+Castiel, it's not profound but it is a bond."
> 
> Title borrowed from Supernatural 5.13 - "The Song Remains the Same"

It's selfish for an angel to claim two charges. The rules are more like guidelines, but in Heaven, even the guidelines are adhered to.  
  
It is unimportant that the armies of heaven are not numberless, and that they've sustained great losses in this war. It does not matter if sometimes it seems as if the human population is expanding beyond number as the centuries pass.  
  
Castiel has already marked Dean Winchester as his charge. He had been granted the great honor of saving the Righteous Man from Hell, and Castiel took all of his assignments with the same grave sincerity.  
  
He is fond of his charge.  
  
However, Dean Winchester occasionally inspires the angel to a sharp desire for violence and/or alcohol. There is a profound bond there, and Castiel counts Dean Winchester among both his dearest friends and as honorary family. However, there are moments when Castiel just wants the rebellious mortal to stay where Castiel puts him.  
  
Sam Winchester can also be annoying, but Castiel was not lying when he told Anna that the younger Winchester was a friend. This friendship was by Castiel's own choice, an exercise of newly discovered freewill. Castiel valued Sam Winchester. He did not risk hell and/or heaven on earth to keep the youngest Winchester in one piece on a whim of Dean's.  
  
Technically, he owes Sam nothing. Sam is not his charge. Sam is an abomination. Sam has done great evil with the best of intentions--poetic license aside--and is just one mortal among thousands.  
  
But Sam cared for him when Castiel was injured and weary. The human did not have to. Castiel was not his guardian angel. But he did. Sam learned from past mistakes, and still sacrificed himself to save the world.  
  
It is selfish and heavily frowned-upon for an angel to claim two charges.  
  
Castiel is a devious sneaky angel who has been working his way around the rules for millennium. Just ask Gabriel.  
  
He liberates Sam from the pit, but does not mark him. He listens to every prayer, but does not respond. The angels know, but their hands are tied. What the humans do not know will not hurt them. Castiel takes no credit.  
  
Let Sam and Dean stew. Let Bobby suspect in silence.  
  
It's not profound, but it is a bond.


	25. A Couple Years in the Lock-Up, But Less than You Claim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 371  
> Prompt: Written for jaune_chat: "Supernatural/Firefly, Crowley as Badger, after Earth was no longer inhabitable, Crowley took a new identity and put his show on the road."
> 
> Title borrowed from Firefly episode, "Shindig."

"Figured me out then, have you, Shepherd?" the demon tilts the shotgun up and away from his face. "I must say, it's been awhile since I've had the pleasure."  
  
"My great-great-great grandfather's journal says you once prized fine things and took great pride in your appearance," Book acknowledged, bringing the shotgun back down level with the irritating little man--no, demon's neck.  
  
"Yeah, about that. Turned out to be a bit distinctive. I went for something a little less memorable."  
  
"I don't think anyone could forget you, Crowley, no matter what name or face you go by."  
  
"But I did slide past you for awhile, son. It was close. Thought you might have had me awhile back--always with that book out ready for an old-fashioned exorcism, are we?"  
  
Book didn't acknowledge the remark.  
  
"I suppose it was the girl who gave me away. Never did like the psychics. More Azazel's gig. The others took it as babble, but you--you knew better."  
  
"It was a bit too specific to your real history, Crowley. One of my ancestors hunted with Bobby Singer. Now maybe he wasn't the smartest cookie in the box, but he put out a permanent Supernatural APB on your head. We've been tracking you down ever since."  
  
"Five hundred years . . . you've even got the Winchester's beat for bull-headed determination, Shepherd. Shame you can't actually kill me."  
  
"You've got your bones stashed somewhere safe. I know. In fact, I bet you never actually moved them. Everyone assumed you would, so you left them right there . . . even after you took to the stars."  
  
"You light a spark on Earth-that-Was, and the whole planet goes up in flames," Crowley smirked. "Hazardous gas byproduct from the whole global warming bit. Good times."  
  
Shepherd Book nodded once. "They thought you were responsible for that."  
  
"What can I say? I'm a businessman."  
  
"And if I found a way to convince Parliament to destroy the old planet?"  
  
Crowley shook his head, making a tsking noise. "Someone wouldn't like that." The demon smiled. "I've got tea on. Good day and all that rubbish. I'll be seeing you again, I'm sure."  
  
And like that, the Shepherd was back to square one.


	26. My First, Second and Third Loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 466  
> Prompt: Written for drabblewriter: "Supernatural, Dean +/ any, one accident the Impala just couldn't come back from."

Ben runs away afterward.  
  
Which just makes it a million times worse, because then Dean has to chase him down.  
  
Forty-eight hours flying after a bus in a stolen car.  
  
Lisa's soft sobs emanating from his cell phone every time he had to pull over for gas.  
  
The build up of nerves and worry and anger.  
  
Dean is relentless.  
  
He finally--finally--catches up.  
  
There's a figure sitting on the floor of a far-away bus station, huddled in his denim jacket with nothing but the clothes on his back and whatever had been in his wallet.  
  
The lump of blue cloth squeaks when Dean's boots enter its line of vision.  
  
"Benjamin," Dean issues through tightly-locked teeth.  
  
The bundle makes a choked noise as it slowly unfolds. Worried, fearful eyes don't quite meet Dean's. "Yes, sir."  
  
And Dean yanks the teen upright and into his arms. Ben makes a soft "omph" sound as he collides with Dean's chest, and Dean does his best to squeeze the kid's breath right out of him.  
  
After a second, he pushes Ben away, holding him out at arms-length to look his son over. There's a shallow gash over Ben's left eye, and a bruise along the underside of Ben's chin. The kid is all sorts of stiff, but he's also been sitting in a bus station for three hours.  
  
It's nothing short of a miracle, and Dean pulls Ben back into the tight hug, swearing softly.  
  
After a long moment, Ben tentatively hugged him back. Dean carded a hand through short hair, pressing a kiss to the top of the kid's head because the situation warranted actual physical affection with a possible side of never letting his kid go again.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ben whispered, dry sobs wracking his body as he clung to Dean. "I'm sorry."  
  
"You better be," Dean growled into his son's hair.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
It was a miracle. Nobody should have survived that crash. Dean had seen the Impala. He had heard the reports from the rescue workers first on the scene. Any other driver . . . any other car . . . and the crash would have been fatal. Except a skinny seventeen year old of a certain height angled just right to be protected by the exact curve of metal . . .  
  
"I'm sorry," Ben continued to croak. The kid couldn't cry; he'd probably used up all his tears during the self-imposed exile.  
  
"I'm sorry too," Dean murmured.  
  
Because the Impala is gone. The last trace of Dean's old life--his only tangible connection with his old family--is scrap metal beyond any sort of repair. No amount of work could restore it. The Impala is gone, but she hadn't taken his kid with her.  
  
That was Dean's baby. Always looking out for him.


	27. And Their Promises They'd Kept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 499  
> Prompt: Written for hugglewolf: "Supernatural, Castiel, Dean, Sam, Family. Castiel's vessel reverts to a child, permanently, as does he. He's now a baby angel, and Dean and Sam have to look after him like they're his fathers. It means moving from town to town when people realise the little boy isn't aging, and some nights Dean lies awake worrying what will happen to Cas if anything happens to him or Sam."
> 
> Title taken from Heather Dale's song, "The Changeling Child."

It's their fourth move and the eighth year.

The air conditioner isn't hooked up yet, and it's August, so all three of them are sleeping on mattresses in the living room under the direct influence of the only working fan. Even Sam was easily persuaded to order pizza and forget the sheets which may or may not be in the box labeled KITCHEN instead of the box labeled LINEN (because while Sam is a nerd, and an organized one at that, Dean rushes things).

As usual and regardless of heat, Castiel is sprawled over Sam's chest with a Rubik's cube, although both brothers know that he'll be sharing with Dean by morning.

He looks about nine, but it's younger or something in angel years because he's too clingy and too vulnerable. So they try passing him off as eight or once even a daring seven. Castiel still hasn't quite figured out falsehoods, so they try to keep it easy on him--or at least keep it consistent.

Baby angels can recite the multiplication table up into the twelve digits, master Mario Kart, and navigate the continent by stars alone. Baby angels can't fly (although they certainly try), need help to groom their wings, and have a dangerous degree of empathy.

And yes, there's a story behind each of those.

The crash course in caring for baby angels was carefully documented in both Sam's neat print, and Dean's rushed hand. Eight years in, Sam and Dean are pros. Baby angels didn't sleep, but they were used to nesting behavior, so Castiel shared a bed with at least one of them. Baby angels liked honey, so there were honey-glazed donuts every Sunday. Baby angels needed this. Baby angels did that.

Baby angels didn't age.

Eight years since Dean hauled a child-sized Castiel out of the rubble, and Castiel remained unchanged. His face is as smooth and as young as it had been when Dean pressed it into his neck during the hurried flight from a leveled motel in Dallas.

Dean is almost forty. His hair is already shot with gray. His back's been messed up one time too many, and Dean knows that he looks older than he is. At the start of this arrangement, he posed as Castiel's father with Sam the dorky uncle. Now Sam is the one that teachers ask for and that the neighbor kids greet as "Cas' Dad."

Another four years and two-maybe-three moves, and they'll have to change their story again. They'll have to explain things away differently with each new move.

There is no back-up plan.

There is no one left that Sam and Dean can trust to care for Castiel when they are gone. Bobby, Jo, and Ellen are dead. Gabriel and Chuck are missing. No civilian can be trusted with the secret. There is no back-up.

Dean isn't the praying type. But when Castiel crawls in beside him a few hours before dawn . . . Dean prays for one more year.


	28. Within Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 553  
> Prompt: Written for hugglewolf: "Supernatural, Castiel, cursed!brothers, Bobby. Castiel comes looking for Bobby and the Winchesters but it's a cursed Sam and Dean that he finds. By the time Bobby comes home and breaks the curse, Castiel is bleeding and traumatised and Bobby isn't sure how to fix him. Or even if he can, never mind how guilty Sam and Dean are."

The door of the panic room was open. Castiel dropped his things and lunged inside, pulling the door shut after him. He reached for the bolt, but his eyes blurred, his hand missed, and he slid down the door to his hands and knees.

Time passed. He might have slept. Castiel wouldn't know.

* * *

It had been a nasty curse.

Bobby frowned at the closed door which mocked the humans remaining outside. Sam watched guiltily from his seat at the bottom of the stairs. Dean--concussed, but standing--hovered to Bobby's left.

"He won't let us in," Dean whispered quietly. "Why should he?"

"Because I said so," Bobby declared, stepping forward and yanking on the door handle. To both his and the Winchesters' surprise, it opened easily, and Bobby almost tripped over Castiel. Then he was thrown away from the room violently with Dean after him in a long silent scream of invisible force.

It didn't let up, keeping the Winchesters plastered against the opposing wall. And it was all Castiel, who was sitting dumbly just a foot inside of the doorway and out of reach.

"Get out here," Bobby ordered. "I said come here, Castiel!" Reluctantly, Bobby gentled, trying a coaxing voice. "Come on out, Feathers. We can't help you in there."

"I don't want help." The strangled voice was almost unrecognizable as Castiel's.

Bobby grit his teeth, and grabbed at the stair railing to pull himself forward. Determinedly, he reached for a support beam, and then snagged the open door. He pulled until he stood in the doorway of the panic room.

"I don't want help," Castiel addressed Bobby's boots. The grace started to fade.

"Tough," Bobby grunted, and grabbed Castiel's shoulders. The angelic shout of pain shattered glass upstairs, but Bobby didn't let go. He heaved the angel up and out of the panic room into Dean's waiting arms.  The oldest Winchester yanked Castiel back from the doorway as if it burned. The angel stiffened in the human's grasp, hands scrabbling for purchase in the flannel shirt, and muscles tense.

"Every thing's okay now, Cas," Dean tried to soothe. "We're going to take care of you, and then we'll . . ."

"I don't need to be taken care of," Castiel disagreed.

"Your wings . . ." Sam trailed off. For a second, it looks like Castiel is going to flee. Then he goes limp in Dean's grasp and the huge black wings flicker into sight. They're not widespread the way Dean described seeing them almost two years ago, but curled tightly around the angel, hiding him from view.

They're not beautiful. They reminded Bobby of a bird that had been torn apart by a stray cat many years ago. They were ripped, feathers missing in gaping patches, over a twisted bone structure.

Bobby touched one. Castiel tried to flinch away.

"Let's have none of that," Bobby told him sharply. "Get that shirt off, and let me make sure that you ain't hurt anywhere else."

Castiel was trying so hard to stand perfectly still that he actually shook. "No."

"I don't recall bein' one for arguing, Feathers. You're hurtin' human-like, and I don't let my boys hurt when I can do something to stop it."

Castiel doesn't fly away when Bobby takes a wing in hand again.

It's a start.


	29. Wings Do Not Count

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 309  
> Summary: Written for copper_on_mars christmas stocking over on spn_gabriel .

"No, Gabriel, I will not listen. I am late for yoga."

"Hey, I'm all about yoga. It's healthy and hardwork, and . . . and have I mentioned my complete turnaround?"

"There are seven chocolate bars on your person, Gabriel."

"It's a work-in-progress, Gabriel defended. "Besides, the extra limbs are kind of like cheating, aren't they?"

"On the contrary, they allow for newer, more difficult forms. You forget that I helped to create this art." Kali moved him aside firmly while continuing to dress and brush her hair simultaneously. "Go home, Gabriel. You may continue groveling tomorrow."

"Why can't I . . ."

"Good evening, Kali. Gabriel."

"What is he doing here?" Gabriel demanded, pointing with chocolate bar #5 (he is an anxious eater).

Castiel merely tilted his head to one side. Kali sighed heavily.

"He has come to escort me to Arachne's for an evening of yoga, Gabriel."

"You just said I couldn't go because I didn't have enough limbs--which I so do," the Trickster sat back smugly.

"Wings do not count," Kali refuted. "And your little brother is astonishingly flexible for an angel."

Castiel bowed his head modestly. "I owe it to my vessel."

"Kali, I can-"

Kali took a deep breath, handed off her metaphysical gym bag to Castiel, and stepped into Gabriel's space. She firmly pinned his hands behind his back, stepped on his feet, took his face with another set of hands, and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

"Gabriel, you have my permission to continue groveling tomorrow."

His mouth worked quietly for a moment, before he looked up at her with big hopeful eyes. "You promise?"

"Yes. Go home. Do not eat your weight in sugar. Good night, Gabriel." And Kali firmly sent him on his way.

"He will not stay there," Castiel commented dryly.

"No," Kali sighed. "Angels are so needy."


	30. Molting Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 743  
> Summary: Written for wolfling's christmas stocking over on spn_gabriel.

The motel room was six inches deep in soot-black feathers. Castiel glanced up quickly at the Winchesters' return and then resumed his x-ray study of the carpet stains under the mass of fluffy down.

"Something you want to tell us, Cas?" Dean demanded, dumping his mini-armory on the closest flat surface (the kitchenette table). The sharp implements bounced dangerously on the bed of feathers.

Sam just watched quietly from just off Dean's left.

"Nothing at this time, Dean," the angel reported solemnly. "Was your pursuit of-"

"Yeah, Castiel is molting," a new voice reported from just behind Sam, making the youngest Winchester jump a foot. "Breathe, kiddo," Gabriel grimaced, "and stop with the projecting, will ya?"

The archangel stepped around the Winchesters, snapped a recliner into existence and tossed himself into it. As soon as Gabriel was situated, three feathers floated down out of nowhere to land on his head. Gabriel sighed, and shook them off.

"Yeah, baby bro is FINALLY molting after a very long very colorful adolescence." Gabriel wiped away a mock-tear. "I thought this day would never come."

"Gabriel, I should like to kill you now," Castiel informed his older brother conversationally.

"What happened to him already being dead?" Dean demanded.

Gabriel leaned forward, smirking as he shook his head with exagerated tsk-ing noises. "Dean, Dean, Dean . . . you know why you're not supposed to kick the fluffy heads off of dandelions? 'Cause a hundred new ones will sprout up in the original's place." Gabriel leaned back again, visibly smug. "I'm the Dandelion 2000, kids."

Forcibly rejecting the concept of 200,000 archangel Gabriels spread across the world, Dean refocused. "So you're risking your latest life by baiting Cas?"

"Cas couldn't do anything bigger than squash a human right now," Gabriel chuckled. "Molting really takes it out of ya, huh, bro?"

"Molting will only last for so long, Gabriel," Castiel reminded him levelly.

"Sad, but true. It only takes a thousand years to get to this step, and it's over in a matter of two or three hours."

"I can giftwrap you for the pagans in honor of the season," Castiel suggested. "It is traditional to exchange gifts at this time of year."

"You think he's pissy now, you should have seen him as a toddler," Gabriel confided to the Winchesters. "I thought that the Terrible Two Hundreds would never end."

"In fact," the archangel mused. "I think some of your toys are still standing over in England, Castiel, Michael's lecture notwithstanding."

A scowl (that would never ever be labeled as a pout by anyone who wished to continue existing) briefly crossed Castiel's face. "The invaders knocked part of it down."

Gabriel patted the empty air comfortingly. "It took them a decade, thirty men, and the world's first pulley system to manage it. After that, the invaders decided it wasn't really worth the effort."

"Are you," Sam's voice stuttered out, before he began again, newly emboldened by new historical information, "Are you talking about St-stonehenge?"

"Have you ever tried to convince an interdimensional lightform the size of a house to pick up his toys?" Gabriel demanded.

Castiel was carefully not making any eye-contact with a single being in the room.

"I always said the teenage rebellion started early and lasted longer with each new generation of fledglings," Gabriel continued. "Putting a stop to the end of the world on Zachariah's watch? I'm surprised you weren't more permanently grounded. And taking Michael's dare to go into hell after the Righteous Man . . ."

"You were not there to stop me," Castiel pointed out.

"You bet your wings I wasn't, because if I'd known about that, I would have kicked Michael from one side of heaven to the other, before tethering you to me with your own halo," Gabriel snorted. "Of all the stupid, immature pranks . . ."

Castiel's face suddenly lit up with that very small, very sneaky smirk. The Winchesters took a large step back, but Gabriel was too busy reminiscing to notice.

"And Anael, was she really--ack!"

As Gabriel spat out feathers, Castiel flexed his newly refeathered wings, and advanced slowly on the archangel. Molting season was over, folks.

The archangel took wing, and Castiel followed after him. Dean slowly turned to Sam, and knocked a few feathers off of his little brother.

"We book it now, grab a new motel room, a couple beers, and this never happened, okay?"

Sam could only nod faintly.


	31. Little Brothers Need Looking After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 370  
> Summary: Written for natt_barn's Christmas stocking over on spn_gabriel.

"It is not funny, Gabriel," Castiel informed his older brother flatly.

It didn't actually affect the archangel's laughing fit. A human would have passed out from lack of breath long ago.

"It's freakin' adorable, that's what it is," Gabriel wheezed out between peals of laughter.

"The experience was unsettling. My reaction was uncontrollable."

"That's . . . that's the idea," Gabriel doubled over again, falling off the cloud. "I wish I could have seen their faces."

"Sam had no emotional response," Castiel reported reluctantly. It had been a long time since the Messenger had last laughed, and Castiel would prolong the experience if he could, even if it came at his own expense. "Dean and Meg seemed rather shocked."

Gabriel choked on his own laughter, and Castiel hauled him back up onto the cloud by the archangel's collar. "I miss all the good stuff up here," Gabriel sighed, leaning heavily on Castiel and wiping away the tears of mirth.

"You could come with me . . ."

"No, Castiel," Gabriel cut him off. "Not yet."

There was a long moment of silence, which made Castiel uneasy, and then Gabriel was trying to hide his snickers in Castiel's trenchcoat again.

"You really are . . . too cute . . . for your own good," Gabriel snorted. "I should change you into a kitten. Bet even the hardened-hunters can't resist the cuteness of a kitten."

"I would prefer to retain my current vessel, Gabriel," Castiel told him firmly.

"Aww, but wouldn't . . . wouldn't . . . your Meg . . . just love to have a soft . . . little kitten," Gabriel wheedled, still laughing too hard to get out more than a few words at a time.

Castiel frowned. "I very much doubt it. Demons are not known for developing attachments to baby animals . . . Gabriel?"

Castiel was alone on his cloud.

He might have neglected the detail of Meg's species when confiding in Gabriel. On the positive side, Gabriel was no longer hiding in heaven, and Meg wouldn't be able to hide from an archangel. Gabriel could be very protective of his younger siblings.

Castiel decided that he would very much like to watch.


	32. Bullet in the Brain Pan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 855  
> Prompt: Written for hugglewolf: "Supernatural, Gabriel & Zachariah, No matter how many angels Gabriel has to fight through to reach Zachariah, Gabriel is going to wring his neck for what he did to Castiel when he had him in Bible Camp."

It doesn't have to be a physical neck-wringing. It could be metaphorical. Gabriel's deep. He has layers. He is totally capable of a metaphorical neck-wringing.

Gabriel heaves another little brother out of his way, sending the patron angel of fish down to commune with a few of the Pacific's best. Another steps between Gabriel and his intended target.

This one's not much older than Castiel, and his eyes don't always focus on Gabriel as they fight. In fact, the eyes never seem to actually settle on any one thing.

Nope. Definitely gonna be a physical neck-wringing. Bare hands too.

* * *

"What?!" Gabriel demanded. He doesn't exactly stick around for the answer, because Castiel's won't be entirely satisfactory, and Dean's will just make Gabriel want to smite the Winchesters that little bit more.

Sam cuts him off in the Yard, and Bobby is watching from the porch, but the older hunter doesn't say anything. He's smarter than the Three Freewill Stooges put together.

"What exactly is 'Bible Camp,' Gabriel?"

Gabriel snarls, wheeling about, but Dean Winchester is leaning in the doorway behind Bobby, and Castiel's flit off to Antarctica to commune with the penguins. Avoidant little snot.

"Imagine being turned inside out, boys," Gabriel growled. "You should have some experience with that, right? Nice long tours of the pit; you understand the phenomena, right?"

Sam is green. Dean isn't looking at anyone anymore, but they opened this can of worms, and Gabriel's gonna rub their faces in it.

"Only, it isn't someone else torturing you by doing it. They talk to you. They persuade. And you do it to yourself. You open yourself up, and put all the pretty things that make you _you_ on display. Every thought, every action, doubt, wish, dream, goal, fear . . . all of it. Everything that makes you _you_ , and you put all that shiny deeply personal stuff out there for everyone else to see."

Gabriel snapped himself up a drink. None of that human nonsense. He goes straight for the Greek ambrosia.

"And they take it out of you, they pass it around, and they get all their grubby fingerprints on your insides. They never stop talking, and you sit there, an empty, gooey, inverted husk, just absorbing everything they say. And they keep parts that they don't like . . . or the parts that they do. And what they do put back, if they put it back, is all marked up like a bad thesis. It doesn't even fit anymore, but they cram it back in, and the thoughts and feelings aren't just yours anymore, it's everyone's. They all get inside your head and they color everything wrong, and they never. Stop. Talking."

Gabriel pointed his flask at Dean. "So if Castiel went River Tam on you afterwards, maybe you can appreciate that the Alliance has done some permanent damage in their attempt to perfect their little weapon."

The analogy flew over Dean's head, which is a crying shame, and Gabriel will probably correct that lack of education when he's in a better mood, but Sam and Bobby are at least appreciative of his references if not the subject matter.

And at least while they're worrying over Castiel, they're not asking stupid questions. Like how Gabriel knows all of this.

Gabriel's never been one to tip his hand . . . before the Winchesters.

* * *

"I'm not even sure how Castiel managed to overcome the brainwashing. I can't believe he's still functioning on this plane, and where were you when Zachariah ripped him off of it!"

It's probably for the best that no one actually tried to answer that question. Gabriel might have smote first, and then he'd have to make it up to Castiel. He had a large enough debt already.

"So they tortured him," Bobby started, and who knows what the hunter was going to say next, but Gabriel wasn't going to let anyone finish a sentence that began with "So they tortured him."

Not when the pronoun stood for his youngest brother.

"You call that torture? I call it abuse," Gabriel snapped. "Torture is wrong. But at least it's straightforward. Abuse is taking something good, something that's supposed to be comforting, and using it to hurt. It's taking advantage of something designed to save. It's your brothers destroying your entire identity just to 'fix' you."

Dean flinched.

Sam was stronger. He met an archangel's furious gaze, and asked: "So what are you going to do about it?"

"Revoking custody," Gabriel growled. "And then I'm going to wring Zachariah's sorry neck."

* * *

It's his first time in Heaven in almost two thousand years. And with every damaged brother that Gabriel relocates, his resolve hardens. With every shifty gaze, tilted head, and uniform suit, Gabriel grows gentler with the brothers he abandoned long ago to such inadequate care. He softens and tries to reassure as he moves through the ranks, but Gabriel also grows more determined to confront one brother in particular.

It might have been nice if the Winchesters had reminded him that Zachariah was already dead before he stormed heaven in his righteous fury.


	33. Asked Without Asking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 244  
> Prompt: Written for 888mph: "SPN, Claire, Jimmy & Castiel, Jimmy died and Claire never said yes to Castiel."

_Claire_.

"No!"

 _Claire_.

"I said no!" Claire Novak screamed, sitting up in the big bed, and slapping her hands over her ears. "No!"

Her mother stirred beside her. "Claire, sweetheart?"

Claire let out a choked sob.

Mom pulled Claire into her arms. "Wake up, honey, it's just a bad dream. Just a bad dream," her mother soothed, stroking Claire's long blond hair gently.

"I am awake," Claire mumbled into her mother's shoulder, but let herself be rocked and babied.

Six months ago, and there would be a whispered "Baby" and a kiss pressed to the top of her head, but that was six months ago. Six Months B.C.

Before.

Cancer.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," her mother urged, tugging covers up over Claire's shoulder. "Everything will be alright. Things will get better. You'll see."

Claire nodded wearily, because her mother didn't know any better. Her mother couldn't hear the voice that came night after night and asked without asking.

 _Claire_.

Claire muffled her whimper in the pillow, because her mother was already dozing off beside her. Only when she was certain that Amelia was asleep, did Claire sit up in bed, hugging her father's pillow to her.

 _Claire_.

Claire glared at each of the four corners of the room in turn. "No," she whispered fiercely. "No, Castiel. You can't have me. You didn't save Daddy, and you won't bring him back, and you can't. Have. Me!"

 _Claire_?

"Never," Claire promised solemnly, childishly, angrily. "Never."


	34. The World is Not Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 326  
> Prompt: Written for jennytork: "SPN, Dean + Sam, Dean was sleeping in Sammy's crib with him that night - so the demon infected them both."

Azazel was amused to find two tiny precious souls sharing the crib when he reached the Winchester nursery.

Peering over the crib, he could only chuckle at the picture of innocence that he was about to destroy. A single errant sound. The noise woke the baby, but the little boy slept on with one arm thrown protectively over his brother.

Azazel brushed blond hair back from the boy's face admiring the fine features so like he remembered Mary Campbell's. Too old, but oh what a tasty treat he would have been . . .

Azazel was reminded of his task when the infant begins to cry, and the sniffling is cut short by the blood offering.

"John?"

"Shhh," he soothed without turning to the woman that Mary Campbell had grown into. There's nothing sweeter than the moment when she turns away--the huntress sacrificing her children on an altar of normality.

Azazel had finished his business with Samuel Winchester, but he paused to run a hand through the boy's blond hair once more. And before he realized what he's doing, he'd lifted the child out of the crib and tucked him close to his chest.

This was the boy who will grow up to end Azazel, by the boy's own prophecy. It'd be easy to dispose of him now.

But it would be so much more fun to teach Mary Campbell a lesson, Azazel grinned as feet thundered up the stairs and down the hall.

Forget him? Forget Azazel?

"You!"

Too little, too late.

With his rapt audience trapped on the ceiling, Azazel repeated his ritual, smearing blood over the sleeping boy's mouth. With a snap of his fingers, the woman is gutted, and Sam begins to scream.

Azazel shoved his little waking weapon back in the crib to cower with his brother. Let John Winchester find his bloody-mouthed eldest, helpless baby, and dead wife like this, he thought, grinning widely.

Then let the world burn.


	35. He that Hath Ears to Hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 901  
> Prompt: Written for zekkass: "Supernatural, mute!Gabriel, the Messenger of Heaven's voice is easily recognizable by other angels...and Gabriel wanted to hide. So he made a sacrifice."

It was the first thing to go. To hide himself from his brothers, Gabriel would have to give up what essentially made him who he was.

So he snapped his voice away--clean away, no mistakes, no forgetting, no voice . . .

After that, it's almost laughably easy to rein in grace and banish wings to another plane of existence. What's left is Gabriel's vessel (tall for this time, but a potential problem in a few centuries), and just enough spark of otherworldly power to keep the pagans interested.

They don't know what he is, but they take him in as Loki fast enough. Gabriel doesn't need a voice to cause trouble. He overstays his welcome.

There was something satisfying in being able to persuade people though actions rather than divine command. Gabriel starts to suspect that he may have unintentionally followed his Father's lead. Humans had Free Will, and trying not to impose on that when you were thousands of times more powerful was simply exhausting.

If they figure out the trick . . . if they just learn their lesson, than Gabriel rewards them.

Those that don't learn just aren't listening hard enough.

Time slips away. Winchesters come and go. Come and go. Come with Gabriel's baby brother at their heels, the first--the only one--to recognize Gabriel since Heaven.

And then Castiel keeps coming back, even after Gabriel lets the Winchesters go again. Castiel is horrified on Gabriel's behalf, distressed grace trying so hard to repair Gabriel when it can barely sustain itself. And Gabriel can't tell him that he chose this. That he wanted to have a little quiet time, a lack of say when it came to the fighting upstairs.

Castiel never listens.

* * *

Castiel never listens.

That’s how Gabriel finds himself here in the same room as Lucifer with baby bro, both Winchesters, and a pagan ex in tow.

At this close range, Lucifer can identify him by sight alone.  They’ve lost the element of surprise, and now Gabriel’s hoping for sheer bluster.  He’s trying to cover all four potential casualties, and his vessel is too dang short for this.  He tightens his grip on his blade for the first time, and it’s the closest that he’s been to what he once was in millennia.

And then his brother asks him why with that gentle voice and insufferable smile.  Why so quiet?

That’s just begging for a smart-ass quip, but Dean—normally Gabriel’s go-to guy for the witty one-liners and dripping sarcasm—stays silent.  The oldest Winchester has one arm around his brother and a fist full of Castiel’s trenchcoat as he tries to get the rest of them with the program.

Escape now.  Marvel over the devil later.  Let Gabriel do what he does best, and serve as a distraction.

It’s a good plan.  A great plan, and one of the best that the Winchesters have ever come up with.  It’s potentially the first one not to contain self-sacrifice as a major bullet-point.  There’s only one problem.

“. . . and serve as a distraction.”

It echoes in the air around them, and only the angels know the sound for what it is.  Gabriel stiffens.  Lucifer smiles.   And Castiel—helpless little baby angel that he is—tilts towards the sound of an older brother’s voice.

It doesn’t stop.  The noise echoes in the room, as it continues to spill secrets and reflect on their current odds.

Kali’s smart.  She puts the pieces together and promptly disappears.

Gabriel wants the boys to follow her, but his traitorous voice airs the thought instantly.  He had cast that awful sound as far from him as possible.  He hadn’t been aiming for the pit.  Or maybe he had in an attempt to condemn what he hated most about himself.  Gabriel doesn’t know.

What he does know is that there is no way to artificially silence the Messenger.  And Gabriel had been foolish to try.  And maybe God isn’t intervening.  Maybe Michael had given up.  Maybe Zachariah had the brilliant idea to jumpstart the apocalypse.  Maybe Castiel chose to fall, and the Winchesters are the most stubborn humans on the face of the planet.

But Gabriel’s the one who has provided the devil with running commentary for a few thousand years—and more importantly, the last year.  Heck, the last four.

Along with a detailed analysis of both Winchesters . . . what makes them tick, what’s their biggest weakness, who was closest to them . . . all in the name of the Lesson.

That?  That’s on Gabriel.

Dean grasps his shoulder, and Gabriel glances back quickly.  He’s gone from their greatest weapon to their biggest handicap in less than five minutes, and they still intend to take him with them.

“It’s touching.  It’s stupid.”

Gabriel turned and shoved the Winchesters back through space in one brutal blow.

Gabriel has always been good at acting without thinking.  It’s his default setting, really, and the boys are gone.  Gone.  That’s the most important thing.  Gabriel has work to do.  He’d never wanted a say in the big fight, but it turns out that his voice has been the most influential of the Apocalypse.  It’s time to silence the messenger for real.

As he faces Lucifer once more with only a feeble illusion, Gabriel considers that self-sacrifice is always ends up a major bullet point in a Winchester plan.


	36. Man!  I Feel Like a Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 869  
> Prompt: Written for drabblewriter: "Supernatural, fallen!girl!Castiel + any, the first time she gets her period."

"Dean. I am bleeding."

The oldest Winchester is awake before the words actually sink on, and Castiel tilts his (her) head back to follow his trajectory.

There's something uncomfortable about how blue Claire Novak's eyes are, but she looks like any other little girl. Nighttime aside, this isn't a scene from a horror movie.

Dean falls back amongst the covers wearily, and scrubs a hand down his face. "Thanks for the update, Cas. Go fix it."

"I tried," Castiel shifts his (her) weight awkwardly. "It will not stop."

Dean forced one eye open again, and gave Castiel a second look. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Purple hoodie, and blue jeans. A smeared handprint of something dark on the angel's right thigh.

"Cas," Dean asked slowly, "Where are you bleeding from?"

Castiel actually twitches.

"Cas."

"There is an unpleasant sensation in my abdomen," Castiel chooses not to answer. "And Claire is of child-bearing age."

"Shut up," Dean clapped his hands over his ears, because Claire is twelve years old, and maybe that's child-bearing age in Bible Times or a Third World Country, but not here and not now. The little girl is barely more than a baby by Dean's reckoning. "Just don't talk, okay?"

Castiel frowns.

"Sam. Sam!" Dean growls, because this is a horror movie--one of those emo Lifetime bonding moment movies, and why couldn't Castiel have woken Sam up instead?

"I'm up," Sam mumbles groggily. "What's wrong?"

"Cassie has become a woman," Dean flapped his hand in the pint-sized angel's direction, ignoring the dirty look sent his way. "Go deal with it and braid hair or something, please?"

Sam blinks at them slowly as his big college brain turns it around for a minute before comprehension sets in. "Oh."

Dean resists the urge to throw a pillow at Sam's non-plussed expression--it's a beautiful demonstration of his maturity how he's not killing Sam during this trying time--but now he's missed his chance. Sam is already reaching for his shoes.

"You got cramps, Cas?" Sam asked, working the laces one-handed. Castiel gave a solemn little nod, and Sam smiles, reaching across Dean to pat the angel on the head. "Alright, why don't you go take a shower, and I'll be right back."

Castiel promptly turned to obey, and Dean blanched at the sight of his (her) blood-stained rear.

Why did these things always have to happen at 4 AM in the morning?

* * *

Castiel is irritatedly ignoring Dean by the time Sam returns, and Dean's so relieved to see his brother that he stops haranguing Cas through the bathroom door.

Sam dumps the plastic bag out on the bed, and throws Castiel's duffel at Dean. "Find whatever Amelia packed for Cas to sleep in," his brother commands crisply, like it isn't nine kinds of crazy to go rooting through a bag that hasn't been opened since a grieving mother packed it.

Castiel apparently liked the purple hoodie as much as he had the trenchcoat.

"Dean."

Apparently, Sam didn't think it was weird at all, and shoulders Dean out of the way. His brother's hands are huge as Sam rifles through the little pieces of girly clothing until he finds whatever he's looking for.

Armed with his chosen tools of war, Sam advanced on the bathroom door. Dean privately thinks that Sam looks woefully unprepared. The oldest Winchester would have preferred a healthy shot of whiskey under the circumstances.

Sam emerged a minute later, and headed directly for the kitchenette. Dean continued to watch the bathroom door until Castiel slipped out, awkward in his (her) new body and obviously uneasy. The falling angel runs long fingers over the unfamiliar pink cotton fabric of the tye-dye pajama pants.

For a moment Castiel actually looks like a teenage girl, and Dean gets the pronoun right for the first time.

She looks embarrassed.

"Alright, Cas," Sam pressed a glass of water and pills that Dean doesn't recognize on the angel. "Take one, and crawl into a bed. I'll have a hot water bottle in a minute."

Castiel gazes up at Sam, long blonde hair spilling over one shoulder. "I don't need to sleep."

Not yet, maybe, but it can't hurt, so Dean reached over to ruffle her hair. With a little cajoling, Castiel is soon settled under the covers of Dean's bed, and Dean has been relegated to sharing with his brother.

Castiel will pay for that indignity in the morning, but . . .

"That was a lot of blood," Dean muttered.

"Nah. It's just a couple milliliters, and not even a fraction of what the human body produces," Sam informs him sleepily.

Dean digests that quietly. "I don't even want to know how you know that."

"Jess," Sam whispered. "You should try relationships that last longer than a month, Dean. You'll learn all sorts of things."

Dean rolled his eyes, and checked over his shoulder to make sure that Castiel wasn't listening. If the angel wasn't actually asleep, than she was doing a decent imitation of it.

"There is one thing you forgot though, Sammy."

"What's that?"

"I'm kind of disappointed that you didn't actually braid her hair, Samantha."

The pillow impacting with Dean's face was totally proof of Sam's immaturity.


	37. Not Quite as Planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 373  
> Prompt: Written for mangacrack: "Supernatural, Team Free Love, Gabriel ends up with a baby angel and two wee!chesters."

Dean is strangling Gabriel from behind, and SOMEONE obviously has a dirty diaper, and if he has to drop everything to go catch Castiel one more time than he's going to leave all three of them in a giant basket on Bobby Singer's doorstep.

That actually sounds like a good option. Gabriel files it away.

He hadn't signed up for this.

Save the world? Sure. Babysitting? Doesn't anyone else remember how his first three kids turned out?

This was not how his resurrection was supposed to go. God was supposed to resurrect him. Or maybe Kali. But not three guilt-ridden nutjobs with a stone tablet and a lisp in Mermish.

They're lucky that they still have two legs and don't breathe through gills.

Gabriel had only had them for four hours, and he couldn't wait until they finally passed out from exhaustion or induced sugar coma. He intended to have a couple strong drinks to take the edge off.

A couple hundred.

Six hours in and Gabriel is just relieved that his powers are intact, because the alternative of diaper changing and spit cleaning doesn't bear thinking about.

Eight hours and Castiel is the first to droop. He's sprawled across Gabriel's midsection little black wings fanned out like a feathery blanket. Gabriel would move his little brother, except he's afraid any motion will start Sammy crying again. Right now the baby is fascinated by Gabriel's nose, and the loss of dignity is a worthwhile trade for quiet. Gabriel still has hope that the ringing in his ears will fade.

Nine hours and Dean is unconscious at Gabriel's side with his face pressed into the archangel's armpit. Sammy is still going strong, and Gabriel wonders briefly if playing dead would help.

It works for possums.

Twelve hours in and Sam's long eyelashes flutter. Gabriel holds his breath. Sammy's face screws up, and Gabriel braces himself. Then Sam's expression smoothes out, his mouth drops open, and he gains a good ten pounds. Victory.

Or not.

Gabriel belatedly realizes that although all three children are asleep, now he's trapped underneath all of them. It would be irritating if it wasn't so darn cute.

Gabriel suspects that he just might end up keeping the munchkins long term.


	38. By Any Other Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 122  
> Prompt: Written for drabblewriter: "Supernatural, any/any, "Well, I didn't expect that to be her first word!""

"Mommy," she points irritably.  
  
There's a moment of complete silence where three men stare at the baby girl sitting on the floor.  
  
Then Sam starts to babble about social and developmental implications for the motherless tot, while Bobby chokes on hearty guffaws of laughter.  
  
Dean takes a deep breath, and hands the desired toy to his adopted daughter.  
  
"Well, I didn't expect that to be her first word," he manages conversationally. "I was kind of hoping for the traditional 'Daddy,' sweetheart."  
  
Blue eyes flashed dangerously as the eleven month old leaned in to Dean's space. "No."  
  
That just sent Bobby into new fits of laughter, and Sam even cracked a smile.  
  
Dean just snorted. "Now that sounds more like a Winchester, Cassie."


	39. Matthew 22:13 (NKJ)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 236  
> Prompt: Written for mangacrack: "Supernatural, Adam, Adam is normal. He's the most normal person within the cage. That's why he's the only one who goes insane, in the end."

Adam does not belong in the cage. He doesn't even belong in hell. Adam Milligan had a place in heaven; he'd been there for almost a year!

Adam has no brother issues (that he's willing to admit to). As far as Adam had been concerned, he had no brothers. Sam and Dean's plight didn't concern him. And the battle between Lucifer and Michael definitely didn't concern him . . . or the rest of the world for that matter.

Except it did. Except Sam--his brother--pulled Adam down into the pit with him.

And then Sam gets back out.

Bobby and Dean think that Sam is broken, but it's impossible to break a Winchester. It might take a while, but all the critical pieces of Sam are there again. More importantly, Dean's there.

So Sam will be fine. He's already back to rushing in where angels fear to tread (literally), and all for the sake of his brother.

But Adam is not fine. Adam is not a Winchester, and he tries so hard to hang onto who and what he is, but it isn't enough. He shatters, because normal people are never enough on their own.

And no one ever comes back to help Adam.

_"Then the king said to the servants, 'Bind him hand and foot, take him away, and cast him into outer darkness;there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth."_


	40. Quality Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 376  
> Prompt: Written for miss_morange: "Supernatural, Gabriel and Team Freewill, if he couldn't go back to his first family, he'd make his own."

It wasn't like Gabriel had popped up in the Impala one day and never left.  
  
Because he had actually used the car door unlike certain other angels, and he did leave . . . frequently.  
  
Dean more often than not went after him--grumbling and insulting the archangel's intelligence all the way.  
  
Sam still cringes just a little bit waiting for Dean to be smote from the face of the earth. He finds it ever so slightly disturbing that Gabriel doesn't actually follow through with the potential threat.  
  
The usual outcome is that Dean drags a sulky Gabriel back by the collar and promptly feeds both the angels.  
  
Castiel stopped protesting a few states back. He likes the pie too much.  
  
Sam just sighs and submits himself to Dean and Gabriel's favorite sporting event--mock Sammy.  
  
He's got to stop sitting in the middle. The tag-team effect is bad enough without having one of them on either side.  
  
After having fully indulged in pie and mocking Sam, Gabriel's sulky mood evaporates. This is the time where he pulls Castiel off to the side or joins the other angel in the backseat of the Impala where they communicate in whispers and non-human languages.  
  
Sam's pretty sure that Dean should be worried judging by the look on Castiel's face. Sam's equally sure that he won't like whatever they're plotting.  
  
Whatever. The Impala is off limits. The angels can reverse any bodily harm inflicted, and Bobby is on speed dial.  
  
You haven't seen anything until you've seen two extremely powerful archangels cower under Bobby's wrath from halfway across the country.  
  
Sam catches Gabriel's eye in the rearview mirror, and the archangel is grinning madly.  
  
Sam doesn't want to know.  
  
Sam isn't sure what made Gabriel decide that Team Freewill made an acceptable replacement for his brothers. And he's pretty sure that Someone out there is laughing at the inappropriateness of the Winchesters playing big brothers to a pair of millennium old angels.  
  
As if on cue, Dean began to wail along with yet another rock song. Gabriel joined in as Castiel and Sam shrank a good six inches in their respective seats.  
  
This was going to end very badly for the rest of the world. Sam just knew it.


	41. Only Small Actors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 118  
> Prompt: Written for enmuse: "Supernatural, Team Free Will + Gabriel, Lingering bloodstains."

The bloodstained corpse lay unmoving at Dean's feet.  
  
"Dang it, Gabriel!"  
  
Dean hated witches . . . hated the way that they could turn a simple hunt into a scene from a bad slasher flick.  
  
One golden eye cracked open.  
  
"Too much?"  
  
Dean grabbed a fistful of the archangel's bloody shirt and dragged him to his feet without dignifying that nonsense with a response.  
  
To Dean's left, Castiel was already spotless, and Sam had thankfully been across the room when the cursed knife had made its appearance. They were bonding over the destruction of the witch's altar as the fire sent their shadows dancing crazily across the walls.  
  
Gabriel chuckled, "I just couldn't pass the scene up, Deano."


	42. As Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 797  
> Prompt: Written for ahavaelwilhouse: "Supernatural, Dean and Sam with Adam, they rescue Adam from the cage and he's not the same."

Adam won’t leave the house. On bad days, he won’t even crawl out from under the bed. Thankfully, bad days are few and far between.

And Dean can’t believe he’s even thought that sentence.

Because on good days, Adam curls in the corner of the living room between the couch and the wall to watch Bobby work. On good days, Adam is still too afraid to look outside or be in the same room as Castiel.

The six feet of sheer snark can curl in tight enough to hide under desks in cupboards or even the nearest human lap when Adam perceives any kind of threat to himself.

Dean feels embarrassed for the kid’s sake, but he never shoves Adam away. He sees Ben and remembers the shove that saved the kid’s life, but destroyed Dean’s new family. And he musses his youngest brother’s hair, but doesn’t kick Adam off his lap.

These are good days, he reminds himself.

* * *

On good days, they can’t keep socks on Adam’s feet. The fabric is too constricting, too much for oversensitive skin, too tight, too soft, too abrasive . . . just too much. Which is all very well for a beach dweller, but it isn’t going to fly in South Dakota’s winters where it gets below zero, and Bobby’s floors are not carpeted.

Except the Winchester’s room. The boys return one day from a quick hunt in town and find the beds had been dismantled and the dresser hauled out into the upstairs hallway.

They find Adam standing in the middle of the floor digging his toes into the plush carpet experimentally, while Bobby tacked in the last strip of molding. The work was complimented, and Bobby took Adam downstairs to start dinner while Sam and Dean got the privilege of putting all the furniture back.

However, one room does not a sauna make. After reading that 90% of the body’s heat escapes through the head and feet, Dean took on the job of experimenting with different materials or thicknesses. No variation appeased Adam, and Dean bought thirty pairs of the thickest socks he could find and made a point of forcing Adam to wear them.

“It’s like raising a toddler,” Dean scoffed, finding a pair of socks crammed into the silverware drawer. “This is so unsanitary, Adam,” he scolded, turning back to his brother.

Adam only stared at him sullenly, so Dean crouched and began working the socks over cold bare feet. Dean knows that he’ll find them wadded up behind a throw pillow in twenty minutes or less.

* * *

On good days, Adam barely eats.

Adam was getting emaciated. His tall frame looked like it had been stretched out. Nothing tempted his uneasy stomach, and if the kid managed to choke something down like as not it came right back up.

Sometimes though. Sometimes, Adam could be tricked if the food wasn’t the focus, if Adam was distracted.

A couple handfuls of popcorn while watching a movie.

A sandwich while distracted by research.

A glass of milk under his nose while the others cook.

It wasn’t enough, and Dean knew that soon they’re going to have to drag Adam outside and to a doctor. It won’t be pretty, and in the end, they’re probably going to have to knock their little brother unconscious or drug him. As if they don’t already have enough trust issues between the three of them.

* * *

Dean didn’t know why Death had changed his mind. He didn’t know why the Horseman had returned with both of his little brothers after making the deal for one. Dean doesn’t care.

Bobby suspected that it was to provide Sam with a perpetual reminder not to scratch the wall. A "Here, look at your brother and what the cage made of him." And Bobby is probably right. Sam can’t remember the cage or a year of his life, and Dean knows his brother well enough to know that Sam hates it.

But then there’s Adam.

And Sam leaves the wall alone. Sam trusts Dean.

It isn’t perfect. Sam is being held together through sheer force of will. Adam has PTSD multiplied by an infinite factor. Bobby had a whole history prior to the Winchesters that Dean’s only starting to understand, and Castiel is keeping secrets. And sometimes, Dean misses Lisa and Ben.

But . . .

Dean has Adam curled against one shoulder, and Sam on the floor at his feet. Bobby and Castiel are in the next room discussing the implications of Death’s request regarding human souls, and all five of them are breathing and within easy reach.

He’ll take them as is.

This is the best his life has ever gotten, and Dean’s determined not to let it slide out of control again.


	43. Home for the Holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 334  
> Prompt: Written for kijikun: "Supernatural, Claire/Jesse, "I don't want just cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving, Jesse."

Claire's eyes widened as she took in her boyfriend's kitchen. The new decor was a little textured . . . and over-ripe.

"Did I miss a food fight?" she asked, proud of how level her voice was.

Jesse shifted beside her. "Not exactly."

"Did your refrigerator explode?"

Jesse seemed to shrink a good four inches just to avoid eye contact, and with him . . . anything is possible. Claire pats her shrunken boyfriend on the head comfortingly.

"Jesse, do you know how to cook anything besides tomato soup?"

"I followed the directions," her boyfriend reported sullenly, already returning to his normal height.

A glob of something purple fell from the ceiling and landed on his shoulder. Claire was suddenly and rather rationally afraid of looking up.

"Why did you invite me over for a homemade Thanksgiving dinner if you can't cook?" Claire demanded.

"I can cook," Jesse protested, and then brightened. "Besides the Cranberry Sauce turned out okay."

The sole dish held a place of honor in the middle of an otherwise barren dining room table. The bravely lit candles seemed to flicker under Claire's look of derision.

"I don't want just cranberry sauce for thanksgiving, Jesse." Claire crossed her arms, and studied her boyfriend closely. "Why didn't you just snap everything up?"

Jesse deflated. "Because that would be cheating." He gave his kitchen a slightly mournful look. "I wanted to make it for you the long way. And then . . . well, things happened."

That was incredibly sweet. Not particularly helpful, but sweet.

Claire sighed, and reached for Jesse's shirt collar to tug him down to her level for a kiss. That always brightened Jesse's mood. Stepping back and avoiding the puddle of turkey guts, Claire gave a little tug on her boyfriend's shirt.

"Come on, Romeo."

"Where are we going?" Jesse inquired, following her willingly.

"My house, so Dad and Mom can feed us," Claire returned blithely as she dodged the broken eggs on the floor. "Bring the cranberry sauce."


	44. Arts and Crafts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 329  
> Prompt: Written for ravenspear: "Supernatural, Dean + future offspring, Neither of them know how to make cranberry sauce, but they figure that together, they'll probably manage."

In deference to Bobby's wishes, the Winchesters are cooking and hosting Thanksgiving dinner this year.  
  
This translates roughly to Sam cooking the majority of the meal, while Dean and Spawn (more affectionately known as Cassie) have been designated as the official errand-runners and table-setters.  
  
Sam has not forgotten the Swamp Thing sculpted from Jello, and still doesn't buy the Science Fair excuse.  
  
Maybe the pre-school Science Fair was a little far-fetched.  
  
So Dean makes a grand total of eight grocery runs, and set the table with lightning speed. Dean figures that he has now earned the right to kick back in front of the television and watch the parade, while Cassie trots around the table to correct the place settings.  
  
Sam makes an appearance only long enough to ban Dean from the kitchen while Sam grabs a shower. His brother objects to smelling like turkey, and Dean isn't going to touch that one with a ten foot pole.  
  
It's too easy.  
  
Cassie, on the other hand, has not been banned from the kitchen. Dean shamelessly exploits his five year old in order to sample the fruits of Sam's labor.  
  
Once the Pumpkin Pie, Sweet Potatoes, and Stuffing have Dean's seal of approval, he makes the request.  
  
"Bring on the Cranberry Sauce."  
  
Cassie disappeared into the kitchen and returns empty-handed. "Uncle Sammy didn't make any," she reports, her blue eyes wide. "He forgot."  
  
Forgot? No cranberry sauce?  
  
Not on Dean's watch.  
  
He runs the calculations in his head. He has a good fifteen minutes before Sam comes back downstairs, and twenty before Bobby arrives. He has a five year old helper, and a can of cranberry sauce in the back of the fridge.  
  
How hard can this be?  
  
Cassie gives him the slightly dubious head-tilt of doom when he voices that out loud, but willingly becomes his accomplice for the privilege of designating the shape of the cranberry sauce--the human heart.  
  
It's an even better consistency than the jello was.


	45. Not Your Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 176  
> Prompt: Written for elfinmouse: "Supernatural, Castiel, His first fledgling died."

It didn't live long enough to bear a name, but it had been beautiful and it was his.

His.

When Castiel takes a vessel, there are options. Claire of course, but Jimmy Novak also had a brother, and there's a fourth cousin out in Wisconsin. No prophecy limits the angel's choice, but Castiel is drawn to Jimmy.

Jimmy the faithful.

Jimmy the father.

Castiel wins the human over with promises, because he understands. He has been faithful without reward even when others have turned away. He has watched mate and child taken from him in the war that never ends. Castiel knows intimately the feeling of futility, and he takes Jimmy's form out of pity.

And perhaps a bit of longing.

Except in those moments of adjusting to a vessel, he feels Claire's presence. He hears her plaintive call.

Claire is beautiful, sweet, faithful, and everything that Jimmy has boasted. Her father loves her more than life itself, and Castiel registers Jimmy stirring within . . . but Castiel feels nothing.

"I am not your father."


	46. Maybe . . . Eventually

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: G  
> Word Count: 172  
> Prompt: Written for cougarcat: "Supernatural, Winchesters & Harvelles, After the hunt goes wrong John finds himself raising Jo on the road with his boys."

The motel lights pulse in the rain, and the warmth of the Impala is a welcome reprieve from John's jaunt to the office.

The children are asleep in the backseat, although Dean's been making noise about moving up to the front recently. For now, his oldest serves as a living pillow to the younger children. Sammy is sprawled bonelessly across his big brother's lap, and Jo's curly golden head rests sweetly against Dean's shoulder.

She fits in with an appalling ease. In Sam's hand-me-down jacket with Dean's best attempt at braiding hair terribly evident, Jo could very well be their little sister . . . that last child that John and Mary never got around to having.

Maybe one day, John will think of her as such. Maybe one day, she will not remind him of yet another failure, and he will not begrudge her place in the backseat. Maybe.

The three children make a pretty picture despite Sam's snoring. John should move them inside. And he'll get around to it.

Eventually.


End file.
